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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24083623">Black Tea for Two</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovemberBell/pseuds/NovemberBell'>NovemberBell</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action &amp; Romance, Action/Adventure, Adventure &amp; Romance, Dark Past, Drama, Drama &amp; Romance, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:35:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>87,663</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24083623</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovemberBell/pseuds/NovemberBell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A first impression is a simple thing. When it comes to war and first meetings, even the smallest choices matter. And so, when a backfiring truck gives Gleb the chance to speak to the lovely street sweeper he keeps spotting on his patrols, he's determined not to let her go without a fight. </p><p>[Latest Update: Chapter 15 - The Train Next Friday]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anya | Anastasia Romanov &amp; Gleb Vaganov, Anya | Anastasia Romanov/Gleb Vaganov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>201</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>177</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Rumor in Leningrad</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Well, here we go. A long-form love story about our favorite Deputy Commissioner and his feisty Princess. Darn you, Gleb! I hope you're happy.</p><p>My tentative plan is for updates to happen once a week or so, on Friday evenings. :) Wish me luck. </p><p>Disclaimer: This is a derivative work of the Anastasia musical. I'm only posting it online because I think/hope that my use of these characters and settings counts as Fair Use. </p><p>Disclaimer 2: In writing this story, I absolutely do not mean to endorse communism or the Soviet regime in any way, shape, or form! Gleb is just a well-meaning Bolshevik who's extremely serious about his job.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="chapter-wrapper">
  <p>Gleb was quiet and somber as he stalked down the Nevsky Prospekt that day. </p>
  <p>Perhaps the unusually harsh weather was to blame for his bleak mood. On that particular morning, the sun had never risen over Leningrad’s proud, majestic skyline; heavy, grey, looming clouds dominated the sky in its place. In the absence of daylight, a biting chill ghosted through the crowd, stinging Gleb’s face and ears as it whistled past him. </p>
  <p>The cold morning air was filled with the chatter of hundreds of people — ordinary Russians, milling about the street, diligently carving out a life and a future for themselves… </p>
  <p>Or so he wished he could say about them. </p>
  <p>But, no. No, indeed! Without a doubt, the citizens of Leningrad had something to hide. It was plain to see. They telegraphed their guilt to him in the way they’d scurry out of his way as he strode past them. </p>
  <p>A few paces ahead of him, a small group of men stood by a lamppost and held a lively conversation in hushed voices, their shoulders hunched forward in fascination. One of them, spotting Gleb, punched his fellow on the shoulder. The conversation died in an instant. They all averted their eyes and stared off into the distance — stared blankly at the street, the cars, the muddy slush underfoot — their faces tense and white with sudden apprehension. </p>
  <p>A man plucked up his courage and leaned against the lamppost, ever so casually, as Gleb stalked by. He cleared his throat. “Ahem! We stand behind our leaders! Our life for the motherland, comrade!” </p>
  <p>Gleb, of course, would not dignify that with an answer. </p>
  <p>Yes, the people indeed had something to hide. There was a rumor in Leningrad, silently eating away at the unity of Russia like a virus. </p>
  <p>“Although the Tsar did not survive…” A man said quietly to another, suddenly falling silent as Gleb passed him. </p>
  <p>A trio of women echoed his words just steps farther down the avenue. </p>
  <p>“Gone, yes. The Tsar is gone, God save him, but— his daughter!” </p>
  <p>“His daughter?”</p>
  <p>“One daughter may be still alive.” </p>
  <p>“The princess Anastasia!” The street urchins whispered, huddled together in dark alleyways, their grins wide and their eyes blazing.</p>
  <p>It was maddening. </p>
  <p>Gleb walked on with silent, grim determination. Judging by the reactions of the people, a particularly fearsome scowl was etched on his face this morning. </p>
  <p>He was aware that other officers often responded to such counter-revolutionary talk by simply putting people in front of a firing squad. Or conversely, by having them dragged off to the labor camps. Gleb himself was no stranger to these tactics, of course; it was not by chance that he had risen to the rank of Deputy Commissioner. But, at this point, the rumors of the lost Romanov princess were so prevalent that he could probably shed a river of blood and still fail to stomp out the gossip. The case called for corrective measures of a different kind. </p>
  <p>Immediate, swift, effective measures. Direly needed, authoritative measures. </p>
  <p>And what measures might those be? It was a question Gleb asked himself often these days.</p>
  <p>A pressing, frustrating question whose answer as yet eluded him. </p>
  <p>He walked with faster, more impatient strides each passing minute. The crowds parted to let him through. The people stared in awe and terror after him, as if he were a tiger on the prowl. </p>
  <p><em>Very well, then,</em> Gleb thought. <em>So be it.</em> He was prepared to be feared for the sake of the motherland. He was prepared to be hated. The Cheka was the iron fist of the Soviet Union. Unlike the rabble who would gleefully return to their bondage under the Tsar’s daughter, Gleb would lay down his life for the new Russia. He could be a tiger — a proud, ruthless beast summoned straight from the heart of Siberia — if the times called for it.</p>
  <p>And then, a flash of golden hair caught his eye. </p>
  <p>In an instant, the grim thoughts that billowed in his mind had dissipated. As he spotted the young woman, perhaps some ten meters away, Gleb slowed his pace, and then he stopped. </p>
  <p>There she was, again! The little street sweeper. </p>
  <p>As ever, she was hunched over her broom, diligently swishing away at the rubbish on the sidewalk. Whenever Gleb was lucky enough to see her while out on his patrols, he’d stop for a moment — only for a moment — simply to watch her as she went about her duty. What a surprise it was to see her again! A rare sight. A very pleasant sight. </p>
  <p>Not once did she look up from her work. She was not the sort to waste time while her superiors couldn’t see her, not the sort to waste her breath on gossip. Her broom swooshed rhythmically back and forth — to and fro, to and fro — as she steadily cleared a path of impeccable order and cleanliness wherever she went. </p>
  <p>It was precisely for hard workers like her that Gleb had joined the army. While the bad apples that loitered on the street were a burden to the motherland, Russia would easily rise to glory if only there were a hundred women just like this one in all of Leningrad. </p>
  <p>As always, Gleb was seized by a sudden, fleeting urge to speak to her. Someday, he would approach this exemplary girl and congratulate her for her work. He’d been meaning to express his admiration to her for some time now… Briefly, of course; concisely. It was something that he’d wanted to do ever since he’d first noticed her a couple months ago, here on this exact corner of the Nevsky Prospekt. </p>
  <p>But, as per usual, he suddenly felt as though his boots were packed with lead. As the girl slowly swept her way up the street, Gleb couldn’t seem to put his words together. </p>
  <p>Of course, the real problem wasn’t the cold lump of nervousness that would build up in the pit of his stomach every time he evaluated whether he should approach her. The core issue here was that she was busy. Truly — there was no legitimate reason at all for him to distract her. Thus, like any other day, Gleb nodded to himself and decided to carry on with his patrol. </p>
  <p>It was then that the truck drove by. </p>
  <p>It was an ancient vehicle — it would no doubt be banned from circulation the moment competent authorities got a chance to conduct a proper inspection of it. As the truck clattered past, it backfired with a loud, resounding bang that echoed across the street. Caught unawares, some of the passersby flinched at the noise. Gleb might have, too, had he not spotted its source beforehand. The harmless explosion, caused by unburnt fuel combusting in the truck’s exhaust pipe, had sounded almost exactly like a burst of gunfire.</p>
  <p>The street sweeper responded with abject terror. </p>
  <p><em>“No!”</em> she wailed in heart-piercing anguish. She tossed her broom aside and flung herself to the ground, bringing her arms up to protect her head. </p>
  <p>In one second, Gleb had crossed the distance between them. </p>
  <p>“It was a truck backfiring, comrade! That's all it was,” he said as he rushed over to her. He stooped to pick up her broom and then grasped her arm to help her to her feet. </p>
  <p>There was no doubt that the Revolution had been necessary. But, regardless, it had been a harrowing ordeal to live through — especially for those who had witnessed first-hand the killing of loved ones, or narrowly escaped being shot, themselves. Sympathy for this woman’s deep, hidden scars had Gleb speaking in a very gentle tone as he tried to call her back to the present. </p>
  <p>“Those days are over,” he said softly to her. He even let a touch of laughter color his words. “Neighbor against neighbor! There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.” </p>
  <p>She was tense. Her small hands, clad in fingerless gloves, quaked violently as they propped her up on the cobblestone. She continued to gaze down at the ground, breathing erratically, her hair hiding her face like a messy, gold curtain. Her entire frame was quivering. </p>
  <p>She needed a little more help. Firmly — but gently — Gleb began to pull her up by the arm. And, at last, she responded: trembling like a leaf, she rose to her feet. </p>
  <p>She turned to regard him with terrified, overwhelmingly blue eyes. </p>
  <p>Her face, now ghostly white, was a tad too thin. There was a sharp, emaciated edge to her jawbone, and purplish-blue rings under those startling cerulean irises of hers. Streaks of grime marred her cheeks and forehead. But, still, it was one of the loveliest faces he had ever seen. </p>
  <p>Gleb’s heart skittered and his mind went blank.</p>
  <p>He tried his best to gather his wits. “You’re shaking,” he said. He hoped his concerned tone would eclipse the involuntary, infatuated grin that was now breaking out on his face. “There’s a tea shop just steps from here. Let me—“</p>
  <p>“Thank you!” she said abruptly.<br/>
 <br/>
Suddenly snapping back to her senses, she seized her broom and tried to bolt away from him. Gleb’s fist remained resolutely clenched on the implement’s much-begrimed wooden handle — as though his hand had suddenly developed a mind of its own. She remained helplessly rooted to her spot, her own white-knuckled grip on the broom effectively chaining her to him. </p>
  <p>“What’s your hurry?” he asked her. </p>
  <p>He felt a pang of guilt. The girl’s wide-eyed apprehension was now directed at him. He was not a bully of any kind— but, to his chagrin, his words and actions seemed to be outpacing his brain at this moment. And it was rather a disappointment that she had rebuffed his offer. (His impulsive, reckless, asinine offer.) At the very least, he’d like to hear a proper explanation.</p>
  <p>The girl licked her lips anxiously. “I can’t lose this job,” she said. "They’re not easy to come by. But, really — thank you.” </p>
  <p>And she looked him in the eye somewhat ruefully. Her apology seemed sincere enough… Until Gleb noticed that the unease in her expression seemed to increase as she took in the distinctive olive green of his coat and his hat and his uniform</p>
  <p>So, she was just as mistrustful of Bolsheviks as the average man on the street was. That was another disappointment. </p>
  <p>But, still…</p>
  <p>Gleb smiled. Ideally, it would come across as a friendly smile— reassuring, rather than wry. </p>
  <p>An hour ago, he had never imagined this moment would happen. Who would’ve guessed it would be today, of all days? Despite her misgivings, he found he’d very much love to get to know this skittish young girl a little better. Now he had one chance to make a good first impression on her. This meeting could well be their first and last.</p>
  <p>Letting her go without a fight was not an option.</p>
  <p>“Please,” he said, releasing her broom with a courteous gesture. “I insist. That was quite a scare — you might pass out at any minute if you don’t eat something. Let me buy you breakfast. It will only take a moment.”</p>
  <p>She pursed her lips. Her brow furrowed. She stole a glance off to the side — out of the corner of his eye, Gleb noticed that a few bystanders were staring. He shot them a glare that sent them scuttling back to their own business. </p>
  <p>He hoped she wouldn’t be discouraged by the unwanted attention. </p>
  <p>“What’s your name, comrade?” he asked her. Aiming to build a little more rapport. </p>
  <p>Her wide, nervous eyes snapped up to meet his.</p>
  <p>“Anya,” she said shyly. </p>
  <p>“Anya.” He nodded. It was a pleasant name. Down-to-earth, strong, simple. Russian to the marrow. </p>
  <p>“I’m Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov," he said, reaching out for a handshake. She glanced down at his hand warily, hesitated for a few moments. </p>
  <p>Then she tentatively wrapped her fingers around his. </p>
  <p>“It’s… a pleasure to meet you, Commissioner,” she said politely. (If reluctantly.)</p>
  <p>“Gleb,” he corrected her. “The pleasure is mine.” </p>
  <p>Her answer was a little half-smile. Gleb found his lips quirking into another involuntary grin. This was progress.</p>
  <p>And feeling her icy fingertips through his glove — it was an absolute thrill! </p>
  <p>“So, Anya,” he pressed on. “May I steal, let’s say, five minutes of your time? A friendly cup of tea will surely warm us both up.”</p>
  <p>Anya bit her lip thoughtfully. She again averted her eyes, frowning; she pressed her hand absently to her stomach. Gleb couldn’t help but notice how her frayed woolen coat sagged around her frame… how narrow her waist seemed despite the thickness of her clothing. He wondered when she’d last eaten anything at all. </p>
  <p>“Five minutes,” she said finally. “You’re very kind, comrade. Thank you.”</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Anya</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here we are! :) Chapter 2. It was so much fun writing this one. </p><p>Before we start, I just want to take a moment and thank all of you lovely people who left kudos and/or commented! I love you all! Really -- seeing your reactions to this story has been a huge source of inspiration and encouragement to me. Thank youuuuuuu</p><p>Also, because I'm a total nitpick I ended up posting this a few hours later than I intended. But, ah well! It's still Friday! So -- happy reading, everybody. ^_^</p><p>(Notes on a tiny post-publication edit: I tweaked a little portion of this chapter because I realized I'd put an atrocious anachronistic detail in it. But it's really an extremely small change. Just one paragraph and two lines of dialogue. Ah well -- thought I'd mention it. :p)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="chapter-wrapper">
  <hr/>
  <p>Strange, how the flow of life could flip from mundane to unpredictable at the drop of a hat. </p>
  <p>Or, in this case, at the sputtering of an old truck.</p>
  <p>“Five minutes,” Anya had said. “You’re very kind, comrade.” And against all odds, in an extraordinarily fortunate twist of fate, the lovely little street sweeper had granted him the chance to speak to her a while longer. </p>
  <p>A first impression, he knew, was a simple thing. When it came to war and first meetings, every choice and every second mattered. </p>
  <p>It was of great importance that he use his time well.</p>
  <p>Anya was observing him with a guarded gaze, seemingly soaking up every detail about his person. Her eyes, Gleb noted, had a peculiar depth to them. There was an intelligent, inquisitive mind behind those intensely blue irises, scrutinizing him carefully. </p>
  <p>“No— no, it’s the least I could do,” he said, still a little dazed at his success until this point. He motioned to carry her broom for her. “May I—?” </p>
  <p>“No.” In one swift motion, she was clutching the broom tightly to her chest. It wasn’t a reaction Gleb had expected. He stood there, stupefied, for a moment.</p>
  <p>“I’m sorry,” Anya mumbled, suddenly embarrassed. “What I meant was — you don’t have to, officer, really. It’s fine like this.”</p>
  <p>But she continued to cling to her broom. Fiercely, protectively, as though it were the most precious thing she owned. And, indeed, possibly it was. </p>
  <p>Another flutter of sympathy for her stirred deep within him. </p>
  <p>“Of course. I understand,” Gleb assured her. He rested one hand on her back, gesturing to the sidewalk ahead of them with the other. “Shall we get going, then, Anya? We’re burning daylight.” </p>
  <p>He injected a little humor into his voice for her benefit. Her tense shoulders relaxed a little. </p>
  <p>She was quiet as she walked beside him. Gleb wondered — was she taciturn by nature, or did her silence mean she found him intimidating? </p>
  <p>Of course, if she did, he could hardly blame her. He was aware that he cut quite a looming, imposing figure in his uniform and overcoat. The very sight of him typically elicited reactions that might range from sweating and anxious fidgeting to outright terror. And, most often, the fear that he instilled in the hearts of his fellow citizens was really just a useful tool of his trade, but now — who would’ve thought? — he found himself in the need to actively work against his own image. His mission was to appear as personable as possible. Now, how was a man to go about that? </p>
  <p>He dug around in his mind for some amusing remark he could make — something to allay any worries Anya might have about him. But the teashop was quite literally a stone’s throw from the spot where they’d stood. Before he could think of something to say, they were nearing the store’s entrance, and the aroma of freshly baked bread was inviting them in.</p>
  <p>“Oh.” Anya closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Her chest puffed out as if she were striving to fill it up with the sweet, pleasant smell. </p>
  <p>“I know,” Gleb chuckled. He paused to breathe in the scent as well, though not quite with the same eagerness. “The bread here is the best in Leningrad. You’ll see why.” </p>
  <p>“Is this really all right?” Anya asked as he held the door open for her. A flurry of warm air filled with chatter and laughter welcomed them as they walked in. “I really hate to distract you from your work, comrade.” </p>
  <p>“It’s not a distraction at all,” Gleb said blithely. “It’s my duty to improve the lives of diligent, responsible citizens such as yourself — let’s say this is one way to go about it. How about some black tea, Anya, and rogaliki? Or was there something else you had in mind?” </p>
  <p>A shy smile. “No — no, that’s perfect, thank you! That’ll do.”</p>
  <p>So they lined up at the blissfully short queue in front of the counter. Anya stood clutching her broom with both hands, almost defensively, as if she expected someone to demand explanations of her for having brought it in here. </p>
  <p>Not that anyone would dare. She was his guest. Gleb could step in with a Siberian bear in tow and no one would have the nerve to complain.</p>
  <p>Anya’s alert eyes were taking everything in: the stout, grim-faced woman serving customers at the counter, the bread set out for display on the shelves — the ovens, the stools, the tables, the people. </p>
  <p>The bread, in particular, she eyed with an intense sort of longing that verged on desperation. The distressed, ravenous look on her face tormented him. The girl was absolutely famished. </p>
  <p>Something needed to be done about this. </p>
  <p>“Yes,” the store clerk barked out as she turned to serve him. Her tone softened considerably as she took in Gleb’s uniform with bulging eyes. “How can I help you, officer?”</p>
  <p>“Black tea for two, please,” Gleb said, “And three orders of rogaliki.” </p>
  <p>Anya tossed him a quizzical look. “Three?” </p>
  <p>“One is for a friend of mine,” he said evasively. </p>
  <p>It wasn’t a lie, strictly speaking. </p>
  <p>They sat at a table by the window. This was precisely the table Gleb always picked when he came here. He enjoyed staring out the window at the Nevsky Prospekt as he slowly sipped at a steaming cup of tea— though, without a doubt, the sight before him now was a lot more interesting. Anya’s broom was propped up against the window, and Anya herself was seated quietly in front of him, her hands resting tensely on her lap. She was gazing at the little frosted buns of bread on her plate as though she’d died and gone to heaven. </p>
  <p>It was a scene he might’ve fantasized about once or twice, admittedly, as he’d observed the girl from afar on his patrols. To see it play out in front of him now was almost surreal. </p>
  <p>Her eyes snapped up to meet his expectantly. She looked like a young child — like a well-behaved, adorable little girl, eagerly waiting for permission.</p>
  <p>“Please, go ahead,” Gleb chuckled. He leaned back in his seat, taking a sip of his tea to set the mood. </p>
  <p>And then Anya veritably pounced on her meal. In a moment, she had entirely forgotten about him — about any apprehension she might have had before. She hunched forward as she ate, letting out soft little gasps in-between mouthfuls, devouring her bread with complete abandon. </p>
  <p>It was very much what Gleb had expected. A touch of — what might one call it? — compassion, tenderness, fluttered in his heart as he regarded her with a smile she couldn’t see. Then he diverted his gaze to the Nevsky Prospekt in order to give her a little privacy while she ate. </p>
  <p>He gazed out at the crowd outside the shop: men, women, and children passing by with a hasty step, most of them in remarkably drab clothes. He watched them absently as he touched a curled finger to his lips. Anya’s uncontrollable hunger had reminded him of his days in the army. The darkest days of the civil war that had followed the Revolution, when he and his comrades would search the corpses of their fallen foes for scraps of stone-hard, moldy bread to survive another day. </p>
  <p>He thought of his long-lost friends, his brothers in arms. They’d all done whatever they had to in order to survive, and yet all of them had eventually succumbed — to hunger, to the cold, to enemy rifles and ambushes in the dead of night. Only Gleb had lived to see the Soviet flag — the symbol of the Red Army’s triumph over the Tsar and his lapdogs — rising up into the sky for the very first time.</p>
  <p><i>‘The Tsar is dead,’</i> Gleb thought, wishing everyone out there on the street could understand. <i>‘There is no need to hanker for the past, no need to spread these false rumors about the princess Anastasia. A new wind blows now, and the Tsar lies cold — along with all the rest of them. Along with his daughter.’</i></p>
  <p>“What are you thinking about?” Anya asked.</p>
  <p>Gleb turned to see her eyeing him with interest. He had to blink a couple times — now it was she who had called him back to the present.</p>
  <p>He glanced down at her plate. He thought about raising his cup to his lips to conceal his smile, but he decided against it. </p>
  <p>“You finished that off in a less than a minute,” he laughed. “That’s no small feat, comrade! You must’ve been hungry.” </p>
  <p>Anya’s face flushed a deep crimson. “I'm so sorry I—”</p>
  <p>“No,” he said, leaning forward to lay a hand on her shoulder. “No, Anya, I’m only teasing you. In all seriousness, believe me: I understand.” </p>
  <p>He gave her the most reassuring smile he could muster. At least, with some luck, she would think it was reassuring. Beaming at people was really not on his job description.</p>
  <p>Anya meekly brushed a strand of gold hair behind her ear. She nodded and her blush receded for the most part.</p>
  <p>“Thank you, Commissioner,” she said sheepishly. </p>
  <p>“Gleb,” he corrected her, again. “It's Gleb. Please. There’s no room for titles here; I’m only a man treating a friend to breakfast.” He pointed at himself with his thumb. “See? It’s the uniform that gives the bad impression. I’m really not so bad.” </p>
  <p>Anya gave him a little giggle. Then— a broad, warm smile. </p>
  <p>“No, not bad,” she said. “Not bad at all. It’s the opposite— you’re a gentleman, Gleb.”</p>
  <p>“Gentleman?” The compliment made him smile. He made a show of waving it aside. “You judge men generously, Anya. Really, I’m just relieved that I could provide a little help. I like being useful. Here—” He pushed the two remaining packets of rogaliki over to her across the table. “I bought these for you.” </p>
  <p>Anya gaped at the wrinkled paper bags. “What— for me? I— But—!” </p>
  <p>“Don’t resist,” he said, mock authoritatively. “They’re all yours. Please, take them. I’ll feel a little more at ease knowing you’ll have something to eat tonight.” </p>
  <p>Anya’s eyes flitted back and forth between the bags and him. She bit her lip for one moment of hesitation. And then, tentatively, she took them, one in each hand. </p>
  <p>“Thank you,” she said. The bags crinkled as she stuffed them in the pockets of her coat. “I’m collecting my money for this shift tomorrow. I’ll pay you back.” </p>
  <p>“No,” Gleb laughed in retort. He folded his arms. “Don’t do that, Anya! It’s a gift! Do you always pay your friends back when someone tries to give you something?” </p>
  <p>Anya looked like she might argue back — but, then, she paused. </p>
  <p>“Friends,” she said wistfully. “That’s...” </p>
  <p>She gazed down at the table. She wrapped her hands around her teacup, briefly gathering her thoughts.</p>
  <p>“That’s not a word I’ve used since… Well, not ever, that I can remember,” she continued quietly. “I...“</p>
  <p>She glanced up at him again, and there was warmth in her eyes. </p>
  <p>“Maybe we could be friends,” she declared. “I think I... I’d really like to be your friend, Commissioner. Gleb.” </p>
  <p>Gleb grinned. Widely. From ear to ear. “Well, say no more! As of this moment, it’s official. Valid law in full force and effect.” </p>
  <p>Anya gave him a little laugh— a soft gust of air escaping through her nose as she lifted her teacup and took a sip. </p>
  <p>She pressed her hand to the pastries tucked away in her coat. “I’m paying you back for these anyway,” she said. </p>
  <p>“No, you won’t.” Gleb couldn't help but smile at her stubbornness. “You can’t. I won’t accept it.” </p>
  <p>“I’ll slip the money in your pocket when you least expect it, comrade,” she said smugly. “You can’t stop me.” </p>
  <p>Gleb laughed heartily. “Reverse pick-pocketing, Anya?” he questioned, his eyebrows arching. “I never would have guessed it. I’ll have to review my manuals to see if that’s an offense punishable by law.” </p>
  <p>Anya’s smile was cheeky. “A girl can learn to steal some thunder,” she said, rather enigmatically. She drank a little more of her tea. </p>
  <p>Gleb took another sip of his own drink. It gave his thoughts time to catch up with her. It turned out Anya was an absolutely charming little scamp when she wasn’t starving, cold, and frightened. Moreover, every word she said seemed to hint subtly at some fascinating and secret background story. He found himself wondering exactly what she might’ve lived through. The questions kept springing up in his mind — whatever tale she had to tell, he wanted to hear. The one thing that held him back was, well…</p>
  <p>It was his promise to let her get back to her work very soon. </p>
  <p>Anya’s thoughts seemed to be drifting in the same direction. As she looked out the window, her smile began to fade a little. She glanced down at her cup, and then back at him. </p>
  <p>“I think we should be heading back," she sighed. </p>
  <p>“Yes,” Gleb said ruefully. He took one last sip of his tea and then got to his feet, shrugged into his overcoat. “Yes, we should. I wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble. Let’s go, Anya.” </p>
  <p>But she wasn't quite listening; her brows were scrunched up in concentration as she rummaged around in her coat’s side pocket. She surprised him by pulling out a weathered leather pouch and filling it up with what was left of her tea— and his. </p>
  <p>Gleb let out a bewildered chuckle. “Very clever!”</p>
  <p>Anya grinned back at him as she tied the pouch’s strings. “Can’t let anything go to waste,” she chirped adorably. </p>
  <p>“My thoughts exactly,” he said. </p>
  <p>She made him intensely regret ever having wasted an ounce of food in his life.</p>
  <p>Anya’s broom didn’t fail to turn heads on their way out of the teashop, but one neighborly smile from Gleb was all it took to dissuade people from staring. The fiendish winter chill and the cacophony of cars clattering on cobblestone met them as they stepped outside. Gleb found himself unable to suppress a shiver. </p>
  <p>“Are you cold, comrade?” Anya asked him curiously.</p>
  <p>“I am!” he admitted. He shoved his hands in his pockets as they set out back toward the corner where they’d met. “Aren’t you?” </p>
  <p>She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Well… well, a little, but not really. I like the weather here. It’s a lot nicer than, say, sleeping out in the woods at night.”  </p>
  <p>“Yes, I’d imagine,” Gleb said, frowning. “You mean you have slept in the woods by yourself, Anya?” </p>
  <p>Anya gave a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe sometimes.” </p>
  <p>Gleb’s brows knit further with concern. “Not what I’d call the wisest choice. It’s very dangerous. Especially for someone like you.” </p>
  <p>“I’m fine, really,” she said. “You don't have to worry. I didn’t walk halfway through Russia without learning to defend myself.” </p>
  <p>He paused a moment to let that sink in. </p>
  <p>“Halfway through Russia?” he echoed her, baffled.</p>
  <p>“I came a long way to get here, Gleb.” Her smile was one of grim determination. “Traveling the back roads, sleeping under bridges… Taking what I needed and working whenever I could. In Odessa, I washed dishes. Before that, I scrubbed the floors at a hospital in Perm.” </p>
  <p>“Perm <i>is</i> a long way from here,” Gleb said. His tone reflected his growing amazement. “I didn’t think it was possible to cross that kind of distance by foot. It sounds like it hasn’t been an easy journey.”</p>
  <p>“Well — it hasn’t,” she said matter-of-factly. “I guess things can get tough sometimes — but, it’s not like I wake up every morning thinking, ‘oh, this is hard,’ or anything like that! It’s not that bad, really. You get used to it. I don’t have a lot of money, or food — figuring that out is the tricky part — but I just…” She shrugged. “Well, I do the best I can with what I’ve got, and I try to go the distance. In the end, where there’s a will, there’s a way, right?”</p>
  <p>Gleb nodded. He was silent for a minute. He marveled at the stoicism and serene tenacity in Anya’s tone. Not even his comrades at the Cheka went about their duty with such heroic strength of character. </p>
  <p>Still, if someone like Anya had been his wife or daughter, he never would have given his permission for her to go on such a hazardous journey.</p>
  <p>“I think your resolve is admirable, comrade,” he said. “And now I’m very curious — what compelled you to come all this way, by yourself, taking as many risks as you have? What is it that you’re searching for in Leningrad?”</p>
  <p>Suddenly, Anya hesitated. </p>
  <p>“Well… it’s…” </p>
  <p>She averted her eyes; she looked down at the muddied, half-melted snow beneath their boots. She paused a long moment, as if trying to decide how to voice her thoughts. </p>
  <p>“It’s hard to explain,” she said finally. “I suppose the best way I can put it is… Have you ever had a dream that was more important to you than anything in this life, Gleb? Something that you would give your life for if you had to?” </p>
  <p>“Yes,” Gleb said at once. “In fact I do.“</p>
  <p>“Me, too.”</p>
  <p>And then, she stopped. It took Gleb a moment to notice that they had arrived at her corner.</p>
  <p>Anya gave him a little melancholy smile. “And this is where we part ways.” </p>
  <p>Gleb blinked. “Yes, for now.” Two unwelcome realizations sprang into being in his mind. The first was that now they both needed to return to their respective occupations. The second was that she expected him to be content with the cryptic non-answer she’d offered.</p>
  <p>A frosty gust of wind swirled between them. For once, it didn't bother him — it made Anya’s unruly hair flutter and dance about her face. Despite the marks she bore from the harshness of her journey — the countless hours of hard work, the hunger, the lack of sleep — she was a true beauty. Every bit as much as she was a mystery.</p>
  <p>And the silence was stretching. Somewhat awkwardly, Gleb nodded, wrinkled his nose — to ease some of the prickly discomfort from the chill. He folded his hands behind his back.</p>
  <p>“So, Anya—” he began. He supposed it might not be appropriate to extend another invitation to tea for sometime soon. It was far too hasty for good taste, wasn’t it? </p>
  <p>“It’s been an honor,” he said. “And a pleasure. Thank you.” </p>
  <p>“No — thank <i>you</i>, Gleb," Anya said. Her lips parted in a genuine, soft smile. “No one has ever been this kind to me before. Thank you so much. For <i>everything</i>.” </p>
  <p>Gleb smiled back politely. But his eyes narrowed. “You're making it sound like a true goodbye, comrade,” he said warily. “You don’t mean to leave Leningrad anytime soon — or do you? After all the trouble you went through to get here.” </p>
  <p>“No,” she said. But, the way she then averted her eyes, shifted her weight… </p>
  <p>“I see.” Gleb nodded. He suddenly felt the peculiar sting of some unpleasant, sinking feeling in his chest. “Well, you’ve come this far. You may as well stay a while and enjoy the sights. The… dismal weather you seem to like so much.” </p>
  <p>Anya giggled. </p>
  <p>“I think I’ll have to stay at least a few more weeks, whether I like it or not,” she said. “I still need to get some things, and… a lot of money, probably.” She thumped the ground emphatically with her broom. “So maybe I’ll be stuck here for a while.”</p>
  <p>“Ah.” Briefly, Gleb glanced away, toward the venerable, bicentennial buildings that lined the street. So, she wasn’t leaving until she got what she’d come here for, whatever that was? How much, exactly, was ‘a lot of money’? </p>
  <p>Well… If today’s events were any indication, it didn’t seem as though she’d be putting together any significant sum in the near future. Ah, what a scoundrel he was for pinning his hopes on her hardships. </p>
  <p>But perhaps it was too soon for Anya to think of leaving. </p>
  <p>“Well,” he started, his good spirits suddenly restored — he was grinning at her shamelessly. “It sounds like you have a lot of work to do. But you’re a strong Russian woman; I believe in you. You’ll get what you need in no time.”</p>
  <p>“Yes! I feel the same way,” she said ardently. “It’s all about just doing what one has to do, isn’t it? Keeping up your courage, foolish as it seems sometimes. When the times get tough — well, you just have to get tougher!”   </p>
  <p>He hummed softly in agreement. “I couldn't have said it better. As your new friend, Anya, I hope I can still be of some assistance to you. As I said before, I like being helpful, and —” </p>
  <p>His tongue tripped on the thing he meant to say next. A surge of heat started to creep up his neck. He could only hope it’d stay hidden under his collar. </p>
  <p>Gleb cleared his throat. “And, in fact, I — well, I’m here every day,” he stammered, looking down at the slush like a coward. He forced himself to lock eyes with her. “On patrol. If you happen to need something, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.” </p>
  <p>A simple offer of friendship and help, blushing like a schoolboy. For shame.</p>
  <p>“Thank you, Gleb,” Anya said, with a soft laugh. “And it’s true — you really <i>are</i> a gentleman! But I really hope I won’t have to bother you.”</p>
  <p>“Oh, no — I’d be thrilled," he said frankly. </p>
  <p>A beat of silence. They both waited for the other to speak — fleetingly, it seemed as though neither of them really wanted to end the moment. Anya glanced down at her boots. </p>
  <p>At last, Gleb yielded to the inevitable. He courteously bowed his head, tipping his hat to her. “Well — and now, I must take my leave. I’ll see you soon, comrade.”</p>
  <p>“See you soon, Commissioner,” she said demurely, gazing at him with kind, gentle eyes. </p>
  <p>The memory of that last smile she gave him followed Gleb all the way back to the office. </p>
  <p>Suddenly, his morning patrols down the Nevsky Prospekt no longer seemed like such a grim task, after all. </p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Still</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, friends! I am very late with this upload; now, technically speaking, it’s early Saturday! Ah well. :p </p><p>A word of warning for you: This chapter is a little on the grim side, since we’re diving right into Gleb’s dark, Soviet world. Awfully sorry, but, hey — I need a starting point for his evolution as a character, so this has to go in there. :)</p><p>Also— thank you so, so, so, /so/ much to those of you who commented and kudo’ed last chapter!! :D I love you madly!! You are my inspiration, and I write for you. &lt;3</p><p>Happy weekend, everyone!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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  <p>Nine o’clock. The late morning was always a busy time at the Leningrad headquarters of the All-Russian Extraordinary Commission for Combating Counter-Revolution, Profiteering and Corruption. Or, more simply, the “Cheka” — a name that had emerged from the organization’s first initials. </p>
  <p>Stepping inside the building was always a rather welcoming sight to Gleb. Dozens of his fellow officials, clad in their distinctive olive green, strode up and down the hallways, invariably in a hurry. The air rang with voices speaking in terse tones and the steady clatter of typewriters. It was the sound of work being done — and the reformation of Russia moving forward. </p>
  <p>He took off his coat and slung it over his forearm. He heaved a silent sigh of relief, enjoying the relative warmth inside the building. </p>
  <p>As he made his way toward his office, he noticed the familiar sound of short, light, clacking footsteps hurrying in his direction.</p>
  <p>“Gleb!” Cried the high-pitched female voice he knew so well. “There you are!” </p>
  <p>“Fyodora.” Gleb turned and acknowledged the short, plump woman with a nod, but didn’t stop walking. For him, idling in the middle of a hallway at the office was the most wasteful possible thing to do. As Deputy Commissioner, he was the man who had the least time to spare in this organization — and yet, everyone seemed to spontaneously think of matters to consult and questions to ask him the moment he walked in. </p>
  <p>“Hold up!” Fyodora said as she caught up to him. She struggled to keep up with his brisk pace, clutching her ever-present clipboard to her chest. “<i>Seriously!</i> Do you know how <i>hard</i> it is to be chasing you around in these heels all the time?” </p>
  <p>“I can imagine,” Gleb said. “They’re a true testament to feminine impracticality.” </p>
  <p>“How dare you.” Fyodora scowled. “You know, this place was probably decorated by men just like you, with no sense of taste at all. That’s why everything here looks so drab and clunky — ugh! I hate it. And, please, Gleb — <i>would it kill you to slow down?</i>” </p>
  <p>Gleb marched resolutely onward. The one thing he wanted at this moment was to sit down at his desk and work in blissful solitude. The more his subordinates were alienated by his impatient demeanor, the less likely they were to interrupt him. Or so he hoped. </p>
  <p>“What do you need, Fyodora?” he asked her curtly. </p>
  <p>Her eyes flitted down to her clipboard. “So, um— well, as always, there’s a few things. Let’s see—” </p>
  <p>“Hey, Vaganov!” An equally familiar male voice — brassy and loud like a trumpet — blared and achoed across the hallway. Wincing at the noise, Gleb turned to see the tall, ginger-haired young man trotting over to Fyodora and him, dodging the other agents passing by and blithely ignoring the glares they shot him. </p>
  <p><i>‘Ivan Volkov,’</i> Gleb sighed inwardly. <i>‘Splendid.’</i> The one thing that could be worse than dealing with him or Fyodora on their own was putting up with the two of them at the same time. </p>
  <p>“Volkov, go away,” Fyodora snapped. “It’s my turn, all right? I found him first! You go make some tea and get in line.” </p>
  <p>“Ho ho! Someone’s feeling nicer than usual this morning!” Volkov said, falling into step with them. He had his usual jaunty grin on his freckled face. “<i>You</i> get in line, sugar; I’m top priority. I’ve got major news on the Anastasia case, and Vaganov is just <i>dying</i> to hear this report.” </p>
  <p>Indeed, Gleb’s ears pricked at that. “News on Anastasia?”</p>
  <p>“It’s probably not half as important as he’s blowing it up to be,” Fyodora snorted. But her nose wrinkled as though she’d caught an irresistible whiff of fresh gossip. “So what is it? Someone finally thought to dig up her body for everyone to see?”</p>
  <p>“Ha! Wouldn’t <i>you</i> like to know?” Volkov said smugly. “Sorry, comrade; this is top-class, ultra-classified-level intelligence — I’m really not at liberty to leak this stuff to just anyone. But if—”</p>
  <p>Gleb groaned. “Volkov—”</p>
  <p>“If you leave us alone <i>right now</i>, maybe I’ll tell you, too,” Volkov taunted. “If I happen to have some spare time on my hands. How about that?”</p>
  <p>“Uh-huh. Yeah, right,” Fyodora bit back. “When have you <i>ever</i> been put in charge of anything that mattered, sweetheart? Last I heard, you were still carting corpses around from the scaffold to the ditch.” </p>
  <p>At that, Volkov’s face soured. They emerged from the hallway into one of the open offices. As they strode past the rows of impeccably aligned wooden desks, disgruntled clerks looked up from their work to glare at the bickering pair.</p>
  <p>“Speaking of ditches, you better be careful, Yenina,” Volkov said jovially, addressing Fyodora by her surname. “Each time I go, there’s a snug, cozy hole calling <i>your</i> name.” </p>
  <p>Fyodora’s voice rose up a notch. “What’s that supposed to mean?” </p>
  <p>Volkov smiled. “It means there’s a special place in hell for people who get on my nerves. And one day, I’ll send you on a one-way trip there, comrade.”</p>
  <p>Fyodora laughed with virulent condescension. “Well, honey — just don’t hold your breath. I was already shipping people off to the gulags when you were only just scrubbing toilets. You can find an excuse to put <i>anyone</i> in front of a firing squad, but not me.” </p>
  <p>“Heh, you’re right, so why wait for it? No time like the present,” Volkov chirped gleefully. He turned to Gleb. “Hey, Vaganov — you don’t mind if I finally get rid of her today, do you? It’s not like she’s that useful, anyway.” </p>
  <p>“Did you just talk to Gleb without being spoken to?” Fyodora said. “I should just slap your face off right now.” </p>
  <p>“<i>Enough</i>,” Gleb barked. </p>
  <p>His voice boomed across the office, startling more than a few of their fellow chekists. </p>
  <p>A headache was beginning to throb in his temples. </p>
  <p>“Both of you,” he muttered at his subordinates. “Shut your mouths and come with me.” </p>
  <p>They knew better than to say one more word. They followed Gleb the rest of the way to his office in blissful silence. </p>
  <p>He unlocked the door and ushered them in with a curt flick of his wrist. He sauntered over to his desk, pulled out his fancy new leather chair, sat down. Fyodora and Volkov stood a prudent distance away from him, exchanging venomous looks with one another. </p>
  <p>Now, he knew, they would not speak unless commanded to. Gleb held off a moment longer — simply to enjoy the quiet. So there they stood. Volkov folded his hands behind his back; he glanced away toward the binders sitting on the bookshelf. Fyodora pretended to inspect the scribbles on her clipboard. </p>
  <p>And they waited.</p>
  <p>“All right,” Gleb said. He gestured to the two chairs across from him. “Please, have a seat.”  </p>
  <p>They obeyed. He pulled open his drawer — the well-oiled, prettily crafted box of mahogany slid out with no resistance at all. He pulled out a tattered folder that was overstuffed with reports awaiting his inspection. He meant to move forward with unfinished work while they gnawed away at his time. </p>
  <p>“Before anything else happens, I just want to say Volkov started it,” Fyodora spoke up.</p>
  <p>“<i>What?</i>” Volkov’s head snapped to her. “How is <i>any</i> of this — <i>you’re</i> the one who’s driving Vaganov up the wall!”   </p>
  <p>“Yenina, Volkov,” Gleb warned — in a low, controlled voice. “If I hear one more word of this, I’ll put you both on a train to Siberia this minute. <i>No. More.</i>”</p>
  <p>Again, they fell silent at once.</p>
  <p>“Now…” Gleb briefly pinched the bridge of his nose. He could sense a migraine coming. “Each of you has five minutes. What do you want?”</p>
  <p>“I have the list of convicts we rounded up yesterday,” Fyodora said, before Volkov could speak. “Our boys are waiting on instructions on what to do with them.” </p>
  <p>“Very well.” Gleb sat back in his chair, crossed his legs. “You need verdicts. So, what are the charges?” </p>
  <p>He flipped open his folder and held it propped up on his palm. He meant to sign off on at least a few reports as they went about this ritual. </p>
  <p>“Ugh,” Volkov grumbled. “Come on, this is going to take <i>forever</i>.”</p>
  <p>Fyodora ignored him. “Let’s see,” she said, sifting through the papers on her clipboard. She began rattling off the names and crimes of the convicts now waiting to meet their fate. “First, there’s E. R. Mikhailov, accused of resisting a home inspection. And G. Mikhailova — his wife, apparently. Accused of sheltering a White soldier in their home.”</p>
  <p>“They must be shot, of course,” Gleb said. He picked up a pen and scrawled his name on the first report. “Every Russian who has ever shown sympathy for the Romanovs or their White Army is to be executed without delay. Apply that principle to every name on your list. You don’t need to ask me.”  </p>
  <p>“Mhmm.” Fyodora scratched several names off with a flick of her wrist. “All right, done. Next: T. I. Rodchenko, accused of—” She frowned at her notes. “‘Counter-revolutionary acts,’ it says here.”</p>
  <p>“What, exactly?” Gleb asked impatiently. He dispatched the next report, and the next after that.</p>
  <p>“I don’t know,” Fyodora said, flipping through her sheets as her face went red. “That’s all this one item says. That’s the charge.”</p>
  <p>“Whoops,” Volkov drawled. He was sprawled in his seat now, gazing out the window with a look of utter boredom. “Looks like <i>someone</i> forgot to double-check her info.” </p>
  <p>“Volkov, bite your tongue,” Gleb snapped. “And sit up straight.” </p>
  <p>The redhead reluctantly obeyed, heaving a loud sigh through his nose. “Yes, Sir.” </p>
  <p>“We cannot be complacent with counter-revolutionary acts,” Gleb said absently. He was neatly stacking the signed documents, one by one, on the desk. “Any instance of disloyalty to the country must be punished to the full extent of the law, regardless of the details. The sentence is execution by shooting.”</p>
  <p>“Yes, Sir.” Fyodora mumbled as she scribbled down his verdict. “I beg your pardon for my incompetence, Sir. This won’t ever happen again.”  </p>
  <p>Gleb briefly glanced up at her in chastisement. “I expect better of you,” he told her sternly. “Find the idiot who gave you incomplete information and send him off to serve at the gulags. We have no need for imbeciles in Leningrad.”</p>
  <p>“Yes, Sir.” Fyodora’s eyes scanned over her notes for a moment. “Ugh, this one’s ridiculous. V. Dyomina — caught loitering after 8:00 PM.”  </p>
  <p>“Ha!” Volkov barked out a laugh. He was now amusing himself by spinning a pencil on the desktop. “Some overzealous comrade is trying too hard to prove himself! Reaching for some low-hanging fruit. How sad.” </p>
  <p>“I bet you purged the streets of loiterers in your time,” Fyodora jabbed.</p>
  <p>“The penalty for loitering is six months’ imprisonment,” Gleb cut in, before they could get started again. Then, raising his eyes from his work once more, he hesitated. “But it seems unlikely that a woman would loiter in the true sense of the term, especially at night. It sounds to me like she has been unjustly prosecuted — perhaps some grudge on her accuser’s part, for instance. Give her a warning and let her go.” </p>
  <p>“Lucky gal,” Volkov said. “They say that, when Gorlinsky was Deputy Commissioner, the only girls who got to walk away with a warning were the ones who’d offer up their bodies to pay for it.” </p>
  <p>“I heard that, too,” Fyodora said, in a rare moment of agreement.</p>
  <p>“You should know better than to lend your ears to slanderers and gossips,” Gleb admonished them. (Although he, himself, had caught wind of his superior’s misconduct not too long ago.) “Let’s carry on.”</p>
  <p>“Well…” Fyodora moistened her finger with saliva, searching through her lists. “Let’s see, let’s see here… the rest is pretty much the same old things. There’s sabotage, insulting an officer, criticizing the regime — boring, boring… These cases are easy; all these people are just taking a bullet to the skull. What else is new? Ah! Here’s one.” She glanced up at Gleb. “One of our men was caught trying to rape a convict. Officer B. P. Rusnak. He was assaulting Mikhailov’s wife, the White sympathizer from before. What should I do with him?” </p>
  <p>“You’ll have him shot as well, obviously,” Gleb said at once.</p>
  <p>“What?” Volkov’s pencil spun out of control — it flew off the desk and fell to the floor with a clatter. “Why?” he demanded.</p>
  <p>Fyodora turned sharply to him. “What do you mean, ‘why’?”</p>
  <p>“It’s a very simple matter: rape is a crime,” Gleb said tersely. “You don’t mean to say you’d tolerate criminals in our midst, comrade?”  </p>
  <p>“Well — I mean, sure — it ain’t right to rape a girl who gets our cause,” Volkov said defensively. “But if it’s a traitor you’re screwing, what does it matter? Why not rape her if she’ll be shot anyway?” </p>
  <p>Fyodora slipped her pen behind her ear. “You are disgusting, Volkov.” </p>
  <p>“There is no place for <i>any</i> kind of perversion in the new order,” Gleb asserted gravely as he glowered at the younger man. “At least, not in my jurisdiction. And, <i>certainly</i>, not within our own ranks.” He put his folder down on the desk and turned to his assistant. “Fyodora — you have your orders; you may proceed with the executions. Officer Rusnak is to be shot before anyone else — make sure the woman and her husband see it. They shall die knowing that the Revolution did them justice.”</p>
  <p>“Yes, Sir.” With that, she rose from her seat. “So, that’d be all, Gleb. For now, anyway.” </p>
  <p>Gleb nodded — a dismissive tilt of his head. “Good. Now, away with you. And, please, close the door.”  </p>
  <p>“Good riddance,” Volkov muttered. “<i>Finally</i>, we can talk.” </p>
  <p>“Yes — now that all the decision-making is over and done with. I’ll let you know when it’s time for you and your triggermen to do the grunt work, comrade,” Fyodora shot back, her voice sweet as poisoned candy, as she swept past him and stopped at the doorsill. “Have a great time burying bodies today!”</p>
  <p>The door clicked closed softly after her. Then, the clacking of her heels was echoing down the hallway as she marched off with her unmistakable brisk, short steps.</p>
  <p>Volkov crossed his arms and stewed in silence. It was clear who had emerged the victor from their battle of wits this time. </p>
  <p>Gleb directed a sympathetic half-smile at him. “Never insult a smart person as she’s leaving the room, comrade,” he said. “Consider that a rule of life.” </p>
  <p>“She’s not smart,” Volkov groused. “She’s just a massive pain in the ass.”</p>
  <p>“Watch your language.” </p>
  <p>“And — no offense, Sir, but I still think this thing you do,” Volkov went on, “discussing <i>every single prisoner</i> with her, thinking long and hard about each verdict — is a complete waste of time. If <i>I</i> were in charge, you know what I’d do? I’d just kill anyone who got dragged in. No need to waste time overthinking the charges; it’s easy as — <i>bam, bam, bam!</i> — and there you go. Traitors dead, problem solved.” </p>
  <p>Gleb noticed that his headache was slowly gaining ground. Maybe because of the asinine prattle he was being subjected to. “Thank you for your input, comrade,” he droned. “Now—” </p>
  <p>He stood up from his seat and sauntered over to the window, his hands folded behind his back. He glanced down at the hundreds of people passing by down the Nevsky Prospekt. </p>
  <p>“It’s your turn,” he said, his back turned to his subordinate. “What news do you have for me on Anastasia? You have five minutes.” </p>
  <p>“Yes, Sir.” There was a smug grin in Volkov’s voice. His chair creaked as he stood up as well; and then the thudding of his boots on the carpet. He went to the other side of the window, opposite Gleb, and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed as he, too, looked outside. </p>
  <p>“Actually, it’s an interesting story,” Volkov said. “You won’t <i>believe</i> how it all fits together. You remember the thing about the Dowager Empress, right? Maria Feodorovna Romanova — Anastasia’s dear old grandmama.” </p>
  <p>Gleb nodded. “She’s offering a reward.” </p>
  <p>“Yes,” Volkov continued. “And you know how the saying goes — where the corpse falls, there the vultures gather. The old lady’s reward is attracting Anastasias from every corner of the globe — and, now, it has even caught the eye of…” He paused meaningfully — a dramatic silence. “Guess who.”  </p>
  <p>Gleb turned away from the view outside, to the redhead, his brows knitting. “Who?”</p>
  <p>“No, I’ve waited way too long to tell you this, Vaganov — now you have to guess,” Volkov insisted with a smirk.</p>
  <p>Sighing, Gleb brought up a finger to massage the tender skin beneath his eyes. He wished he could soothe the throbbing in his optic nerves somehow. “Volkov—”</p>
  <p>“Here’s a hint,” the redhead said. “It’s a street rat you’ve been chasing since before you got promoted.” </p>
  <p>Gleb’s hand pulled away from his face. Baffled, he turned to face Volkov more fully. </p>
  <p>“The conman?” he asked.</p>
  <p> “And his wily friend, <i>Count</i> Vladimir Popov,” Volkov confirmed, hand twirling in mock reverence.</p>
  <p>Gleb paused a moment to order his thoughts. “That’s noteworthy news, indeed,” he mused aloud. “Though I suppose, on hindsight, it’s exactly what I should’ve expected. So, he’s graduated from merely selling stolen trinkets and sowing unrest among the people. Now he wants to profiteer off of Anastasia’s assassination — and single-handedly destroy the legitimacy of the new order, if by some whim of fate he should succeed.” </p>
  <p>“That sounds exactly right,” Volkov said. “Our sources tell us he and Popov are hatching a plot to find a girl they can pass off as the little Romanov princess. Apparently, they’re holding…” He trailed off with a lopsided grin, as if privately savoring some sordid joke.</p>
  <p>“What?” Gleb demanded. </p>
  <p>“They’re holding… wait for it… Anastasia auditions!” Volkov said, in an explosion of laughter. “<i>Right</i> under our noses— hah! The shameless little son of a bitch.” </p>
  <p>“Anastasia auditions?” Gleb echoed. At once, the outlaw’s plan vividly took shape in his mind’s eye. The corner of his lip turned down in distaste. </p>
  <p>“How… deplorable,” he muttered. “Where are these auditions taking place?”</p>
  <p>“We don’t know yet,” Volkov said. “My men are still looking.” </p>
  <p>“I see.” Gleb again looked out the window. He clasped his chin between his thumb and forefinger — and ignored the jolt of pain as his eyeballs rotated in their sockets. </p>
  <p>“Well, as… <i>unimpressed</i> as I am to hear this,” he said pensively, “I must say this information has come to us not a moment too soon. Obviously, the conman has next to no chance of finding a woman who can fool Anastasia’s own grandmother — let alone smuggling her out of the country; but, with men like him, it’s best to err on the side of caution. Now it’s more urgent than ever that we put an end to his mischief.” He turned to his underling. “Have you found out anything else about him?”</p>
  <p>“Yes. We also managed to dig up some info on his background — but nothing too useful, Sir.”</p>
  <p>“Certainly better than nothing,” Gleb said. “Go ahead.” </p>
  <p>“He is known only as Dmitry,” Volkov reported. “He has no birth certificate, no papers, no last name, and no living family, as far as we can tell. No traces of his personal history anywhere in Russia.” </p>
  <p>Gleb raised an eyebrow. “The man is a ghost.” </p>
  <p>Volkov nodded. “Yeah — as far as the state knows, he doesn’t exist. But, word on the street is he can be seen around the Nevsky Prospekt these days.” A note of amusement slipped back into his tone. “Probably recruiting whores for his little Anastasia project.” </p>
  <p>Gleb hummed in agreement. “Most likely.” </p>
  <p>For some reason, the mention of the Nevsky Prospekt set his mind on a disturbing path of thought. It conjured up an image of Anya, bent over her broom and sweeping with utmost concentration — and then, lifting her head as the conman approached her with black intentions and a disgraceful proposal that might set her on the path to public execution. </p>
  <p><i>‘No,’</i> Gleb firmly told himself. It seemed foolish to even contemplate the thought. Dmitry’s plan was the sort of offer that could easily seduce liars and thieves like himself — and women of ill repute. Anya was different; her character was of a higher caliber. It’d be impossible for him to tempt her. </p>
  <p>Even if the conman happened to be glib and manipulative. And clever.</p>
  <p>Even if Anya happened to be young and naive, and in great need of money. </p>
  <p>Gleb shook his head — shook off the tendrils of irrational doubt and anxiety that had begun to coil around him. He berated himself again — this time, more forcefully: <i>‘No.’</i></p>
  <p>“‘No,’ what?” Volkov asked. </p>
  <p>Gleb blinked — once, twice. The redhead was staring at him with a quizzical look in his eye, still leaning against the wall with one orange eyebrow raised. </p>
  <p>Had he really just spoken to himself aloud?</p>
  <p>“Nothing,” Gleb said, gathering his wits as nimbly as he could manage. He turned to fully face the assassin. “This is the most useful report you have turned in so far, comrade. You’ll have to pass on my congratulations to your men. Needless to say, you must be especially vigilant as you go about your duties these days. If you happen to notice anything remarkable on the street, you are to report to me immediately. Understood?” </p>
  <p>Volkov grinned widely, stood up straight — his hand cut across the air and touched his forehead in a perfect, martial salute. “Yes, Sir! Do you want me to tighten our grip on the areas where the conman has been spotted?”</p>
  <p>Briefly, Gleb narrowed his eyes in concentration and pondered. “No,” he decided. “He has dodged and outmaneuvered us for years; the last thing we want is to let him know that we’ve picked up on his scent. Keep your finger on the pulse of things — and if you see him, follow him, learn what you can — but don’t try to arrest him. Trying to chase him down is a fool’s errand.” </p>
  <p>Volkov grunted in vexation. “Little bastard’s light on his feet, I’ll give him that.”</p>
  <p>Gleb smiled. “And here we all thought no man in Russia could outrun you.” </p>
  <p>“He <i>can’t</i> outrun me,” Volkov growled. “Not for long. I will shoot him one day.” </p>
  <p>“Indeed, I hope so,” Gleb said. “I can guarantee your career would benefit from it, as would mine. I daresay it’d go a long way toward crushing the public’s misguided faith in the Anastasia legend. You’d be doing the motherland quite a favor.” </p>
  <p>“Heh.” A self-satisfied smirk. ”I’ll be a fucking national hero.”</p>
  <p>“Language, Volkov,” Gleb warned — yet again. “Do you have anything else to report?”</p>
  <p>“No, Sir.” </p>
  <p>“Then, off you go.” He rewarded his underling with a salute of his own. “Thank you for your service, comrade.” </p>
  <p>Volkov exited the office — neglecting to close the door, of course. And, then, Gleb found himself — at long last — alone with his thoughts.</p>
  <p>A few moments went by. There was nothing but silence. He breathed in the warm, still air — enjoying the peace, the solitude. It helped ease the pressure in his temples, somewhat muted his headache. Once more, Gleb’s eyes wandered toward the street and the looming sky and the crowd milling about outside. </p>
  <p>And once more, his mind soon began to stray. Light as sparrows, his thoughts took flight and alighted at that corner by the teashop, where Anya was no doubt hard at work upkeeping the streets of Leningrad at this very moment. Diligent, and responsible, and beautiful.</p>
  <p>Gleb thought of the conman, Dmitry, roaming the alleyways like a shark — searching for national tragedies to exploit and guileless girls to lead astray. </p>
  <p>He groaned quietly, rubbing at his forehead with his fingers. He was being ridiculous. Objectively speaking, it was unlikely that Anya would ever run into the conman in the first place. The chance was so slim, so remote, that there was no reason for him to obsess about it. </p>
  <p>And, besides, if Anya ever <i>did</i> meet Dmitry, by some extremely improbable coincidence… why, indeed, should it matter at all? </p>
  <p>Gleb turned away from the window. He sat down at his desk, picked up the folder — it was time to continue where he’d left off. He willed his thoughts to focus on the reports before him — the words inked on the paper, the signatures, the photographs. </p>
  <p>A true chekist, an agent of the Revolution, could feel no compunction at the taking of life. Should feel no concern for the lives of others. Without a doubt, he had enjoyed Anya’s company earlier this morning — those few minutes he had spent with her. But, still — ultimately, she was nothing but a child, an insignificant little girl. And he was nothing but a man, with nothing but his orders to fulfill.  </p>
  <p>In the grand scheme of things, Anya’s life mattered very little. As did Gleb’s. Charming as she might be — as strangely and irresistibly drawn to her as he might feel — he must be careful not to care too much for the girl’s well-being. And if, for the sake of argument, she were to get involved with the conman and his Anastasia scheme, then…</p>
  <p>Well, then Gleb would have to do whatever his loyalty to the motherland might ask of him. It was really very simple. Hardly something to be surprised about. But, still… </p>
  <p>Still.</p>
  <p>He let out a heavy, weary sigh. He flipped the folder closed and tossed it onto the desktop. There was no point in trying to read; he was pathetically staring past it. </p>
  <p>‘<i>Perhaps I might speak to Anya about this matter,</i>’ he thought, yielding to the illogical, nagging sense of concern he felt for her — much to his consternation. Though, on second thought, perhaps there was nothing illogical about it. It might simply be that she was such a little waif in need of protection — though she herself might not realize it — that her helplessness appealed to some deep, primordial part of him. The side of Gleb that longed to defend the innocent and shield the vulnerable. Yes, that piece of the puzzle certainly seemed helpful in making sense of things.</p>
  <p>So the next time he met her, he decided, he might give her a word of warning about this Dmitry and his schemes. If she knew what the scoundrel was up to, then it was more improbable still that she would fall for his wiles, in the unlikely event that she might stumble upon him. It seemed to Gleb there was no harm in doing what he could to keep her from danger in this way. </p>
  <p>After all… Certainly, it was his role in life to be scourge of criminals and traitors. But it was very much his business to protect the better citizens of Leningrad as well. Obviously. Of course. </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Hunter's Hounds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ooookay, I took my sweet time posting this. Darn, haha. </p>
<p>Wait, though -- I can explain! Lol. Actually, I intended to post this on Friday night as usual, but it got to be so long that I couldn't quite get it finished on time. </p>
<p>Ultimately, I decided to split this update into two chapters and post them both on the same day. Between the two of them, I ended up writing almost 40 pages of Glenya goodness in the span of 8 days, lol. XD So this is actually a double update, and it's a 45-min read, you guys! :D So, at least, I hope this will be worth the wait.</p>
<p>All right, God bless you! Happy Pentecost Sunday, everybody!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="chapter-wrapper">
  <hr/>
  <p>Early in the morning, Anya kept an eye out for backfiring trucks as she marched down the sidewalk.</p>
  <p>She was trying to keep a brisk pace. It felt like some kind of force was pulling her back, like she was tied to the end of a stretching rubber band. Some part of her was yelling, <i>‘Stop! We shouldn’t go that way! I don’t want to!’</i>, begging and whining in the back of her mind. She felt a little bit tempted to stop and listen to that voice, but not really. Giving in to it meant that she’d be out of a job again. And it wasn’t like jobs in this city grew on trees. </p>
  <p>So, she marched on and did not stop. Until she rounded the corner and the building was suddenly there in front of her.</p>
  <p>It was the ugliest edifice she’d ever seen. That was the first thought that popped up in her head every time she saw it. It was a big block of concrete with rows of narrow windows in thick, painted metal frames. Bits and flakes of the off-white paint had peeled off over time, exposing patches of naked iron here and there. </p>
  <p>Held up by rusting metal bars, great, bold, red letters stretched across the front of the building. They were the initials for The People’s Commission for Public Sanitation and Waste Removal. </p>
  <p>Anya pulled in a deep, shuddering breath. She honestly didn’t mind her job, most of the time. But this was the one part of it that she really hated. </p>
  <p>She steeled herself and — with some effort — pulled the heavy steel-and-glass door open.</p>
  <p>She stepped into a waiting room that felt small and cramped. Anya thought it’d feel less suffocating if there weren’t moss-green and phlegm-yellow tiles everywhere — on the floor and the walls and on the ceiling.</p>
  <p>The only decorations in the room — if one could call them that — were the clock and the framed poster that was mounted on the wall. The clock’s hands were set somewhere near 8:00 AM. The poster was a drawing of Vladimir Lenin: he was a giant and he held a broom in his hands. He had a jovial smile on his face as he swept a bunch of little fat kings and priests and businessmen off a tiny planet. The caption below read, ‘<i>Comrade Lenin Cleanses the Earth of Filth</i>.’</p>
  <p>Anya’s lips pursed as her eyes fell on that image. She couldn’t tell exactly why, but she hated it; she thought it was horribly tacky, and… insulting? Somehow. It was always the first thing she saw when she stepped in here. And all she could do was scowl at it. </p>
  <p>There weren’t that many people the room yet. It was just about twenty or so young men and a handful of women. A good sign — that was why she’d come early. In just a few minutes, around quarter past eight, this place would be so overcrowded that the queue of people waiting would spill over into the street and start snaking around the block. </p>
  <p>The men were crowded together on rusty iron benches. The women sat in rows of folding chairs that were covered in grime, chatting quietly amongst themselves. A gramophone by the window blared out a jazz tune. </p>
  <p>Anya’s palms were starting to break into a cold sweat. She pulled off her gloves and stuffed them in her pocket. </p>
  <p>On the far side of the room, a somber woman in uniform was calling each person by his name. As his turn came, each one happily stepped up to collect his money and walked out the door. All of them were street sweepers like Anya herself — and, like every Friday, today was payday. </p>
  <p>Anya shuffled over to the woman’s desk. And, as she did so, she noticed the three burly men idling in the corner off to the right. </p>
  <p>They were Plisetsky’s bodyguards. One of them, spotting Anya, muttered something to the other two. They turned and leered at her with knowing smirks etched on their faces. </p>
  <p>“Name?” the receptionist droned. Combatting her own survival instinct, Anya wrenched her eyes away from the men to look at her. </p>
  <p>“Um— Anya,” she said. The woman waited impatiently — and she remembered to explain, “I have no last name.” </p>
  <p>“Anya.” The woman flipped through the papers on her desk. She talked slowly, like she was bored out of her mind. “Yes, you’re on the list. Sit down and wait for your turn.” </p>
  <p>Anya thanked her — though there came no answer — and obeyed. </p>
  <p>Luckily, there was still room for one more person on the old couch near the door. The couch was upholstered in an intricate sort of way; it might’ve looked pretty and elegant some forty years ago. Now the worn black leather was slowly peeling off the backrest; the wooden structure beneath it dug into Anya’s back as she sat down. But she crossed her legs and folded her hands on her knee, as casually as she could. </p>
  <p>She snuck a glance at her boss’s musclemen. They had forgotten about her and gone back to standing around in silence, which was a relief. </p>
  <p>Nothing to do now but sit and wait. </p>
  <p>Anya sighed and gazed out the window. <i>‘If only,’</i> she wished… </p>
  <p>If only all government officials were honest and kind like Gleb Vaganov. </p>
  <p>The memory of the Deputy Commissioner popped up in her mind’s eye. He was large and broad-shouldered — at least a foot taller than her — and he looked horribly intimidating in that uniform loaded with medals and insignia. But, really, who would’ve thought? How gentle and polite he was! So generous — and so friendly, and good-natured. She recalled his warm, easy smile — and the way he’d blushed as he’d offered her his help! </p>
  <p>Maybe he thought she was pretty. The idea made her smile. It was a brief respite from the fact that she’d have to deal with her disgusting, lecherous employer very soon.</p>
  <p>Of course, Anya knew better than to trust a policeman. Most of them weren’t very nice, or very fair — but, just from their first meeting, it looked like Gleb was just as sweet as the rogaliki he’d bought her yesterday. A prudent voice in her head warned her that she had to stay alert around him — and the voices in her head always had good advice to offer — but until he did something to prove he was just as bad as the others, the Commissioner was her friend. She had a friend now! </p>
  <p>It was such a strange, weird thing to think about. But it was true. </p>
  <p>“Anya?” The receptionist called gruffly. “If Anya is still here, will she <i>please</i> step up?”</p>
  <p>“Yes!” She jolted to her feet, startled — she hadn’t expected her turn to come that soon.</p>
  <p>Again, the lewd eyes of Plisetsky’s thugs snapped to her like magnets. </p>
  <p>“You’re next,” the woman drawled, jerking her head toward the door behind her desk. “Foreman Plisetsky will speak to you directly. Don’t make him wait.”</p>
  <p>“Thank you,” Anya mumbled. </p>
  <p>Her stomach clenched — but she caught herself dragging her feet on the way to the office, and she corrected her gait. It wasn’t like her to slink around like a street dog — she stood tall and proud like a princess. As she coiled her hand on the icy-cold brass doorknob, she set her jaw and held her head up high.</p>
  <p>The door creaked as she pushed it open. </p>
  <p>Plisetsky was waiting for her inside his office. The short, portly man sat in his luxurious leather chair, with his fleshy hands folded on his desk. </p>
  <p>When his eyes landed on her, his face broke into a wide, simpering smile. </p>
  <p>“Anya!” he wheedled. “A pleasure to see you, as always! Come in, girl, come in. A little tea for the cold?” </p>
  <p>Anya stepped inside — one step, and no more. </p>
  <p> “No, thank you,” she said tensely. </p>
  <p>At that, just as she’d expected, her boss’s smile turned sour. </p>
  <p>He uttered a low, sickeningly sweet chuckle. “Ah. Still holding out, I see. Pure, righteous, innocent little Anya. Haven’t you learned anything yet?” </p>
  <p>He rang the little ornate silver bell on his desk. Anya quickly scuttled away from the doorway — one moment later, Plisetsky’s bodyguards stalked into the room and shut the door behind them. </p>
  <p>Her heart was suddenly pounding hard against her ribs. </p>
  <p>“I hope you don’t mind if my associates join us for our little chat,” Plisetsky said pleasantly. “Don’t worry; they won’t hurt you — I just like keeping them around on special occasions.” He gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk. “Take a seat, Anya.”</p>
  <p>“Please, Sir,” she said, working hard to keep her anxiety out of her voice. “I only came here for my money. I don’t want trouble—”</p>
  <p>“I said, ‘take a seat,’” he said. His smile was cold like a dagger. “I don’t like repeating myself, young lady.” </p>
  <p>His three musclemen stood there, mutely waiting for his orders. Yes, Anya had learned a thing or two about this despicable man during the time she’d spent here in Petersburg. If she disobeyed his command, one of his thugs would step up and plonk her down on the chair at a flick of his finger.</p>
  <p>So, taking a deep breath, she went and sat down of her own accord. </p>
  <p>“Good!” the foreman said, obviously pleased with himself. “We’re doing better today! Wouldn’t you say?” </p>
  <p>Anya waited without saying a word. At times like this, silence was her best weapon. In fact, right now it was her <i>only</i> weapon. So she sat there and stared into his eyes as fiercely as she could manage. </p>
  <p>For a moment, the man squirmed under the heat of her glare. Then he recovered and cleared his throat.</p>
  <p>“You know,” he went on, “I’ve been thinking a lot about you and me these days — about this long, lovely friendship we’ve had. How long has it been since you started working for me? Two months or so — is that right?”</p>
  <p>Anya waited. She folded her arms.</p>
  <p>“If you ask me, I think I’ve been really nice to you during that time,” he drawled on. “I’ve been good; I’ve been patient. <i>Too</i> patient. I can only wonder why you won’t warm up to me. Why, Anya — do you understand how many girls would kill to be in your shoes? Just imagine — a warm bed, a roof above your head and breakfast every morning — you could have it all! You wouldn’t even have to work anymore. And all you’d have to do is walk in here one day and… well, just let me have a little fun with you.” </p>
  <p>He gave her his sweetest, most malicious smirk. She heard the thugs’ low laughs as they stood by, listening. </p>
  <p>She clenched her fists hard under her elbows. She could feel her face heating up with shame. </p>
  <p>“But you don’t want any of that,” Plisetsky snorted. “Think you’re above offers like mine, do you? You’d rather sleep under a bridge and starve, all because of your damned pride.” </p>
  <p>His words sent Anya’s heart racing. “How do you know ?”</p>
  <p>“—Where you live?” He laughed and glanced toward his henchmen. “Why wouldn’t I know? My friends and I care so much about you — we just had to find out.” </p>
  <p>Anya bolted to her feet. Her fists were balled at her sides so tightly it hurt. </p>
  <p>“Forgive me for troubling you, Sir,” she said. “I’m leaving. You don’t have to pay me now. I can come some other week.”</p>
  <p>Her voice came out quieter than she meant. She was breathing too heavily. Trying too hard to rein in her anger.</p>
  <p>Plisetsky got to his feet, too. His bodyguards moved to close in on her, but he held them off with a wave of his hand. </p>
  <p>“Oh, no, Anya,” he said. “I couldn’t <i>possibly</i> let you go without your money. I know just how badly you need it.” </p>
  <p>Keeping his eyes pinned on her, he stepped around his desk and came to stand in front of her— much, much too close. He pulled out a small yellow envelope from his chest pocket; he held it out to her in a graceful gesture that would’ve seemed gentlemanly — if only everything about him didn’t spell out what a swine he was. </p>
  <p>Against her will, her eyes dropped to the envelope — her hard-won wages from this past week. </p>
  <p>She quickly glared up at him again. She was not about to let her guard down. </p>
  <p>“Go ahead,” Plisetsky said genially. “Take it. You’ve worked hard for this, Anya — you’ve earned it. Fifty rubles for you to squander away on a cup of coffee.” </p>
  <p>She glanced down at the money, and back up at him again. It seemed like he had no tricks up his sleeve this time. </p>
  <p>Slowly, cautiously, she took the envelope.</p>
  <p>“Thank you, Foreman.” She took a guarded step back, shooting a wary glance at his goons for safety. ”I won’t waste any more of your time.” </p>
  <p>She thought of scurrying out the door before anything else could happen. Plisetsky beat her to it; he swept past her and held the door open for her. </p>
  <p>“I’ll see you next Friday, Anya,” he sang.</p>
  <p>And he stood there and smiled. Anya dreaded having to come near him, even if it was just so she could dash out into the waiting room — but it was either that or staying trapped in his office forever. </p>
  <p>As nimbly as she could, she tried to dart past him. He was expecting her to do just that, and he caught her by the arm. </p>
  <p>“We didn’t make half as much progress as I hoped today,” he growled in her ear. “But you’ll come around; I just know it. It’s a matter of time, dear girl.” </p>
  <p>His hot breath brushed against her cheek — it was laden with the stench of vodka. His grip was tight and painful and she was sure it would leave a bruise. </p>
  <p>“Let me go, please.” Anya’s arms were shaking — her whole body was. “You’re hurting me.”</p>
  <p>“Sorry — my bad,” he said, releasing her. “Off you go, darling.” </p>
  <p>And then he slapped his hand to her backside, pressing cruelly against her buttocks. </p>
  <p>What happened in those next five seconds was almost too fast to grasp. Before she could stop herself — before she could even think or process what she was doing — Anya seized Plisetsky by his lapels and slammed his head against the doorsill with every bit of strength she had. He lurched back and the door crashed loudly against the wall — gasps broke out among the throng of people that had gathered in the waiting room. Plisetsky staggered and tumbled to the floor — and now the doorframe was smeared crimson with his blood.</p>
  <p>“You <i>nasty</i> little whore,” Plisetsky hissed. </p>
  <p>Anya ran.</p>
  <p>She dashed straight into the crowd. Quick and nimble as a squirrel, she wove in between the started multitude of street sweepers, sprinting around them, dodging and ducking under elbows and shoving aside whomever she had to. </p>
  <p>She’d gone half the way to the exit when she heard the booming voices of Plisetsky’s goons bellowing after her.</p>
  <p>“Stop right there, wench!”</p>
  <p>“Where do you think you’re going?”</p>
  <p>Anya barreled out the door, and the cold air of Petersburg was biting at her cheeks. Her feet slipped on the thin layer of ice that had built up on the concrete. She forced herself to recover her balance somehow — this was a life-or-death kind of chase; she couldn’t afford to fall — and she bolted down the street, desperate to recover the split second she’d wasted. </p>
  <p>Fueled by terror, her legs pumped faster than she’d ever thought they could. She slipped into a kind of survival-powered tunnel vision — all she saw were the bumps and cracks and ice patches on the concrete, and the way in front of her. She couldn’t feel anything aside from the mouthfuls of cold air scalding her lungs; couldn’t hear much above her own ragged, gasping breaths and her heart pounding in her ears. Only the startled cries and the curses people let out as she hurtled past them. </p>
  <p>She risked a glance back. Plisetsky’s men were hot on her heels. Anya gasped — though she’d got a head start, apparently they could run a lot faster. In a few more seconds they’d be pouncing on her. </p>
  <p>Out of desperation, she lunged at a woman who was strolling by and tackled her into the wall. Flailing, the lady toppled over in the middle of the sidewalk — and, like stampeding bison, the men stumbled over her and crashed into each other. </p>
  <p>That bought her a single, precious minute. </p>
  <p>“I’m so sorry, madam!” she yelled over her shoulder, as loud as she could. She hoped the terrified lady would hear that over her own screaming.</p>
  <p>In an all-or-nothing gambit, she then veered off the sidewalk. Passing cars screeched and ground to a halt — furious drivers honked their horns and hurled insults at her. Shouting out her apologies, she dashed across the street, down an alleyway, and into a maze of winding backstreets. </p>
  <p>By this point, Anya’s lungs <i>burned</i>, like they’d explode if she drew in one more gasp of air. Her legs felt wobbly — they wouldn’t carry her that much farther. Soon, she’d have to stop running. She needed someplace to hide.</p>
  <p>Panting, she skidded to a stop — and almost fell again. She glanced around wildly at the moss-laden brick walls around her, the locked back doors, the crates, the barrels, the monstrous piles of garbage, the broken-down cars—</p>
  <p>Then she spotted the balcony up above on a second floor. </p>
  <p>And, more importantly, the open window right next to it. </p>
  <p>Anya risked another glance back. The goons might come charging around the corner any second; she had one chance to make this leap. Without really stopping to think whether this would work, she climbed and clawed her way up the disgusting mountain of waste. She held her breath, got to the top, jumped for all she was worth — and actually latched onto the balcony railing. </p>
  <p>Somehow, she managed to hoist herself up and over the balustrade. She tumbled onto the balcony floor and sprang to her feet. She tested the door just to see if, by some miracle, it was unlocked — </p>
  <p>And, it was! </p>
  <p>Anya let out a cry of relief from the bottom of her soul. Without wasting a second, she slipped inside the building and shut the door. </p>
  <p>And silence — and safety — hung blissfully in the air around her.</p>
  <p>Like a doe escaping the hunter’s hounds, Anya slumped back against the door, dazed, looking around in disbelief that she’d lived to see the light of another day. She was panting convulsively — she couldn’t seem to stop — and she clamped a hand over her mouth, dreading she’d disturb whoever lived in this place.</p>
  <p>She was now in a bedroom for a married couple. It was a very small apartment, furnished with only the most necessary things — the bed and blankets, an aging wooden dresser whose blue paint was flaking off, a folding metal chair in the corner of the room. </p>
  <p>Maybe the owners themselves were away from home, on their way to work. At least, that was what it seemed like, judging by the absolute stillness that surrounded her now. </p>
  <p>All she could hear now was the blood rushing in her temples. </p>
  <p>Anya staggered over to the bed and literally collapsed on it. Now that the worst was over, all the stress and exhaustion were catching up with her. She closed her eyes, let her back get a little rest — and her hands roamed all over the softness of the blankets. And she was only too happy to stay like that for a while — she just sighed and lay there as she waited for her heart to stop racing. </p>
  <p>When was the last time she had slept in a bed? </p>
  <p>But — no! That was not a temptation she could give into now. Even if they’d lost her, she couldn’t trust that those thugs would just stop looking. So she quickly sprang up to her feet again. </p>
  <p>Silent as a shadow, she sidled out the bedroom door — into what looked like an odd mix between a kitchen and a living room, with a stove and a table and a couch — and an ancient little cupboard — all smushed together in the same space. It really was a modest place. Sure, there was more stuff in here than she’d owned in all her life — but, still, she could tell that the people who rented this flat lived from one payday to the next. </p>
  <p>So — though she couldn’t pass up the chance to raid their pantry — all she took was an apple and a loaf of bread. </p>
  <p>And then guilt nagged at her, so she put the bread back. </p>
  <p>Because bread was really expensive these days. And you couldn’t just buy it anywhere, so they probably were counting on that one loaf being there. Fruits were easier to come by.</p>
  <p>Just as Anya was sneaking out the window, she realized she’d completely forgotten her manners. So — deciding she was out of danger for the time being, she slipped back into the flat. She hunted around for a pencil so she could scrawl a message for her hosts on a napkin: </p>
  <p><i>‘Dear Sir and Madam,</i> </p>
  <p><i>I stole one of your apples. I promise that’s all I took. I’d be very grateful if you could forgive me.</i> </p>
  <p>
    <i>P. S. You should really lock your balcony when you head out.</i>
  </p>
  <p><i>P. P. S. Thank you so much for saving my life.’</i> </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Deputy Commissioner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Aaand, here we go, part 2 of this week's double update! </p><p>Now, an announcement: I'm officially fine-tuning my update schedule. :) From now on, if I’m on track to publish something within the length of 10 - 15 pages, you can expect it to be online by Friday night / Saturday morning, Central Time. If you hear nothing from me on that weekend, that means I’m cooking up a giant, hulking update just like this one for you to sink your teeth into next Friday. </p><p>Lastly, two bits of trivia: </p><p>1. In real life, it seems Anastasia had some symptoms of hemophilia. She wasn't fully affected by it like her brother Alexei was, but there's some evidence she might have been a carrier, meaning she probably bled more than a regular person.</p><p>2. I've heard some people say that "Gleb Vaganov" is not a real Russian name. I'm here to tell you that's completely false!! "Gleb" is a fairly popular male name in Russia, thanks to Saint Gleb of the Russian Orthodox Church. In Russian, you pronounce it as "Glyeb". And "Vaganov" is actually the surname of one of the soldiers who murdered the Romanovs in real life. </p><p>A'ight, I'll shut up now. Happy reading!! :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="chapter-wrapper">
  <hr/>
  <p>Some time later, Anya found herself ambling aimlessly down the street. She wasn’t sure where exactly she was, where she was going, or how long she’d been doing this — but didn’t really care a whole lot anyway. </p>
  <p>She figured, after all this traipsing across the country, walking was just the thing in life she was good at. Putting one foot in front of the other was easy; it was encouraging, and somehow it helped her feel better when she was anxious. </p>
  <p>A while ago, she’d found out that she may have tried <i>too</i> hard not to punch Plisetsky’s teeth off his face all those times he’d tried to get to her. Her nails had actually dug into her palms hard enough to draw blood. After that, her dangling from a balcony like a spider monkey had made the cuts a little worse. Her hands now looked like an absolute mess, and she’d had to tear a strip off her skirt to bandage them. It’d taken an eternity and a half to stop the bleeding.</p>
  <p>As the sun began to rise up into the sky, her growling belly demanded that she eat the apple she’d stolen for breakfast. She convinced herself not to. She’d just smashed her boss’s head against a doorframe, and the disgusting gangster-chumps who worked for him knew where she lived. Now she was jobless again, and she also didn’t have a safe place to fend off the cold tonight. </p>
  <p>Luckily, it was still morning. She had plenty of time to figure out what she’d do. Still, all she had was this one apple, and fifty rubles, and that was it. Really, this wasn’t a time to be squandering food away. </p>
  <p>She’d be fine. </p>
  <p>It wasn’t like she’d never found herself in this kind of trouble before. </p>
  <p>Seriously — this whole thing was so silly compared to other scrapes she’d gotten herself out of! She shouldn’t be scared. It was horribly stupid that there were tears pricking at her eyes — that she was pushing back the urge to burst into sobs. It wasn’t like she could cry here anyway; there were just too many people out on the street, and frankly, she’d rather die than be seen bawling her eyes out in public.</p>
  <p>So she resolutely blinked back her tears. They were fighting back, though — blurring her vision, threatening to start trickling down. She shut her eyes and wiped her face with her sleeve, and then—</p>
  <p>And then she bumped into something bulky. Somebody walking by — a man. A strong man, it felt like; she’d bounced right off him, and he hadn’t even budged.</p>
  <p>Anya staggered back with a gasp. Her eyes zeroed in on the olive green uniform — and, for a second, she was sure that now she was in worse trouble than before. But then the stranger turned around, a little bit startled — and there was no mistaking that square-jawed, clean-shaven face.</p>
  <p>“Gleb?” </p>
  <p>The Deputy Commissioner stared down at her, his black brows arching. </p>
  <p>“Anya!” he greeted her jovially — in his calm, deep voice. “Good morning, comrade! I was just wondering where you were.” </p>
  <p>He observed her curiously for a second. He tilted his head a little to the side. “No broom today?” he asked.</p>
  <p>It was such an innocent question — but it caught Anya by surprise like a punch to the gut. Her stomach lurched. What should she say? </p>
  <p>Was it safe to tell him about all the terrible things that had happened this morning?</p>
  <p>What would happen if he knew that she’d actually, physically attacked a government official? Nothing less than the District Foreman for the Public Sanitation Commission…</p>
  <p>Her mind flooded with dread just from thinking about it.</p>
  <p>“You mean… my broom?” she was sputtering. “Um — you see, it’s… I — well, no — actually…”</p>
  <p>As she cast about wildly in her mind, Gleb waited. His brow creased a little as he watched her stammer.</p>
  <p>At that moment, she remembered an inconvenient thing about him. Yesterday, when they’d met, she’d realized that he was sharp-witted, and he had the clever, piercing eyes of a hawk. He was too good at picking up on little, subtle details — and, probably, lying to him was just about the hardest thing she could think of. </p>
  <p>But… even if he <i>weren’t</i> too smart for comfort, she didn’t want to lie to him. Not now. Not this soon.</p>
  <p>“Sorry,” she mumbled miserably. “What I mean is… No, Sir, there’s no broom today.”</p>
  <p>She let her eyes drop down to his impeccably polished boots. Thinking of her broom, she suddenly longed to curl her hands around its trusty wooden handle. Instead, now they were fidgetting with the skirt of her coat. </p>
  <p>“Is everything all right, comrade?” Gleb asked. </p>
  <p>His voice had turned serious. She looked up to see his brows had furrowed a little deeper. </p>
  <p>“I’m all right,” Anya sighed. “Everything’s fine, really — I just…” She let her shoulders slump in defeat. “I think I just lost my job.” </p>
  <p>Her confession really surprised him. “Anya, I’m terribly sorry to hear that,” he said, leaning forward a little. “Was it because of…?” </p>
  <p>He trailed off. He was remorseful that he’d invited her to tea yesterday. </p>
  <p>“No,” Anya assured him. “No, that wasn’t it. What happened was — I… Well, I sort of flipped out on my boss,” she decided. At least, that was close enough to the truth. “So — that’s why.”</p>
  <p>“Ah. I see.” Then his tone became stern. “But why would you do that, Anya? Disrespecting your superiors — when you have nothing to gain and everything to lose?” He shook his head. “I thought you of all people would know better.”</p>
  <p>“I <i>know</i>!” Anya cried out suddenly — too loud, frustrated with herself. “I <i>really</i> shouldn’t have — I wish I hadn’t — but I wasn’t thinking about it at all! Now it’s too <i>late</i>—”</p>
  <p>That nasty sense of self-pity from before chose this moment to make a comeback. Her voice broke, and tears started welling up in her eyes again. She bowed her neck, hiding her face behind the thick, messy curtain of her hair; her teeth clamped down hard on her bottom lip. </p>
  <p>She was <i>not</i> going to cry. Especially, not in front of him! </p>
  <p>“Anya…” Gleb said softly.</p>
  <p>For a moment, he hesitated. Then, very gently, he tucked his hand under her chin and tilted her head up. </p>
  <p>Anya’s eyes went wide. It was such a soft touch — light as a feather — but the feel of his warm, gloved fingers against her skin had electrified her into forgetting her woes. Her heart gave a leap as she met his gaze. </p>
  <p>“I apologize, Anya. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Gleb said quietly. He let his hand fall to his side. “No doubt these are trying times for you, but I’m sure you’ve recovered from much worse. There’s nothing at all to be afraid of.” </p>
  <p>“I’m not afraid.” </p>
  <p>She forced herself not to break eye contact with him. She sounded like a petulant child, but she couldn’t help it; she didn’t like being comforted. </p>
  <p>And her feelings were all over the place now. She was trying hard to regain her center.</p>
  <p>Luckily, Gleb wasn’t offended. He smiled. </p>
  <p>“Good,” he said. “Now — what can I do to help?” </p>
  <p>She had to take a moment to process that one. “Uh… what?” </p>
  <p>Gleb pointed to himself with gallant self-confidence. “It so happens I’m a very useful friend to have, Anya. There must be something I can do for you. Of course, a few things immediately come to mind — but I’d rather have you tell me what you need, first.” </p>
  <p>“Um…” She felt a little perplexed. </p>
  <p>He was — a useful friend? Why? What exactly could he do? </p>
  <p>Of course, this wasn’t new — Gleb had offered to help her before. She hadn’t thought a lot about it at the time, but everything about him did seem to hint at his power and influence. His thick, fancy coat practically screamed ‘high-ranking officer’, but beyond that — it was something in the way he carried himself, like an extra layer of dignity mere mortals didn’t have. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had access to — well, all kinds of things in the government. Maybe he <i>could</i> come up with some way to make her situation a bit less sticky?</p>
  <p>...Or maybe not. </p>
  <p>On second thought… maybe she <i>didn’t</i> want him to start pulling strings for her. Not if it meant, even remotely, that he’d try to help her get her job back — go and talk to Plisetsky and find out that she was a crazy, violent, dangerous woman.</p>
  <p>Or — even worse... maybe Gleb using his power meant that his people would get involved. Judging by his uniform, he was a chekist officer, wasn’t he? He worked for the Cheka! That terrifying organization that was half police force, half hitman syndicate. </p>
  <p>It was a dreadful and hair-rising idea, no matter which way one looked at it. Anya shook her head emphatically. </p>
  <p>“No! No, thank you. I don’t need anything. I’m fine!” Her hands were waving frantically at him to prove her self-sufficiency. “Like you said— it’s not even such a huge problem, in the first place — it really doesn’t matter! I can deal with it on my own.” </p>
  <p>The look on Gleb’s face was the perfect picture of bewilderment. </p>
  <p>“What?” he began. “But, Anya —”</p>
  <p>“Nope! You’re very kind, comrade, but I think I can handle myself. I <i>don’t</i> need your help.”</p>
  <p>And she smiled as broadly as she could manage. </p>
  <p>Maybe if he thought she’d gotten over her mopey mood, he’d stop insisting.</p>
  <p>For a minute, Gleb just stared at her, his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. He seemed to be a little baffled and a little miffed. </p>
  <p>“I wish I knew what just happened in your mind, Anya,” he sighed.</p>
  <p>“Nothing! I’d — just… hate for you to go out of your way for me when I can provide for myself,” she said casually. </p>
  <p>But, when she smiled at him, she felt honestly grateful for his kind intentions. “Thank you, Gleb.” </p>
  <p>He looked away, toward the cars rattling by on the cobblestone. He was thinking — maybe still trying to make sense of her bizarre mood swings.</p>
  <p>“I admire your resilience, comrade,” he said finally. “Very well.” </p>
  <p>She had the sense that wasn’t what was actually on his mind. Still, she was not about to push her luck. </p>
  <p>“So — Anya —” Gleb rocked back on his heels, his hands folding behind his back. He’d shifted into a businesslike kind of mood — she could almost see him switching gears in his mind. “As a matter of fact, I’m very glad to have found you. There’s something I need to discuss with you.” </p>
  <p>“Oh, really? What is it?”</p>
  <p>“Well—” Suddenly, his eyes lit up with a spark. “It’s rather a lengthy business. Why don’t you join me for a little stroll? We’ll both freeze to death if we keep idling here a moment longer.”</p>
  <p>Without her intending it, Anya’s lips quirked up into a grin. Unexpectedly, all her troubles seemed to have faded into the background for the moment. “So that means I get to tag along on your patrol?” </p>
  <p>“I suppose you might say that,” he chuckled. </p>
  <p>With a courteous bow, he offered her his arm. </p>
  <p>“Well?” he asked. “Shall we go, then?” </p>
  <p>It was such a charming gesture. Anya couldn’t help but chortle giddily. He treated her like she was such a lady! She felt almost as if she were someone like him — someone who actually mattered in the big picture of things. </p>
  <p>She reached out to link her arm with his. Or, she was just about to — but then she remembered where she’d been just a while ago, and she recoiled. </p>
  <p>“Oh… Actually…” She offered him an apologetic smile. “I think you might want to keep me at arm’s length, comrade. I stink.” </p>
  <p>Gleb quirked an eyebrow quizzically at her. His nostrils flared as he tried to figure out what she meant. And then an unmistakable look on recognition flashed across his face — he’d caught the lingering stench of garbage that had continued to cling to her after she’d managed to cheat death in that alleyway. </p>
  <p>Her face quickly flooded with heat. She must look like the most embarrassed person on earth.</p>
  <p>Gleb’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he watched her tortured expression. He tried and failed to smother a laugh. </p>
  <p>“Oh, Anya!” he said. “Where <i>have</i> you been today? I swear, comrade — the things you manage to get yourself into—”</p>
  <p>He trailed off there, with an infectious, boyish grin lighting up his face. Anya brought her hands up to cover her flaming cheeks — but even then, her ears were glowing so bright that a passing airplane could’ve spotted her from the skies. </p>
  <p>“Ugh. You don’t want to know,” she groaned. “At least you’re not annoyed that I reek. I thought it’d bother you — since, you know — you’re so polite and sophisticated—”</p>
  <p>“Sophisticated! Me?” Gleb chuckled. “Oh, <i>please</i>. In days gone by, I’d often find myself sleeping in a ditch, surrounded by men in desperate need of a bath. I know a few things about stinking, Anya — and you smell like roses.” He flashed her a roguish grin. “Though, perhaps, not exactly the freshest ones.”</p>
  <p>Despite her mortification, all she could do was laugh. </p>
  <p>Emphatically, Gleb offered his arm again. “So…?”</p>
  <p>And Anya sheepishly tucked her hand under his elbow. </p>
  <p>Suddenly — <i>obviously</i> — joining arms had pulled her very close to him. It made her face go pink for a different reason than before. </p>
  <p>Gleb, though, seemed to be really enjoying all this contact. He was smiling from ear to ear, and there was a warm glow in his eyes as he stood next to her. Anya made a fuzz of adjusting her grip around the crook of his arm, just to have an excuse to avoid his gaze. </p>
  <p>Then, he led her forward down the sidewalk.</p>
  <p>As moments passed, Anya waited for him to… well, actually bring up the thing he wanted to talk about. But, apparently, he’d decided to take his time as they went about this. So they walked together a little while in silence. </p>
  <p>To be frank, it wasn’t an unpleasant kind of walk. Gleb was carefully measuring his pace, slowing and adjusting his stride to match hers. Getting used to being this close to him (and, also, ignoring the gawping stares people were giving them) took her a few minutes — but, once she’d achieved that, it was actually not so bad. It was a nice change, she decided, from being by herself all the time. Actually having someone to share the quiet with. </p>
  <p>Finally, Gleb looked like he might say something. His gleefulness from before had begun to dissipate. His shoulders tensed a little. </p>
  <p>He let out a breath through his nose as he steeled himself to broach the subject. </p>
  <p>“A remarkable city, our Leningrad,” he began, rather formally. “Don’t you think, Anya?”</p>
  <p>“Uh…” <i>‘Remarkable, how?’</i> she wanted to ask. But that probably wasn’t an answer he’d like much. “It’s… nice?”</p>
  <p>“All these people coming and going,” Gleb said. “Each of them playing their part in the new order of things. I can walk these streets for hours, admiring them… And wondering why a few bad apples are getting up to mischief instead.” </p>
  <p>She wasn’t sure she liked where this was going. She tensed up a bit — her instincts were warning her to be ready to bolt — but she reminded herself how kind and playful he’d been just minutes ago. He couldn’t possibly be about to arrest her — or say that he suspected her of something. </p>
  <p>Alert, she listened. </p>
  <p>“It’s hard to believe that there are some who would have us plunge back into darker times,” Gleb continued somberly. “Betray all that we have worked and bled for. Counterrevolutionary behavior. It boggles my mind.” </p>
  <p>He glanced down to lock eyes with her. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about the princess Anastasia. I’m curious, Anya — what do you think about them?”</p>
  <p>Anya blinked. </p>
  <p>So, <i>this</i> was the thing that was weighing so heavy on his mind? </p>
  <p>Well — honestly, that was kind of a relief! Now she felt free to relax again. </p>
  <p>“Mm. Anastasia…” She gazed at the ravens picking crumbs of bread off the concrete ahead of them, putting her thoughts in order. “I know I <i>have</i> heard things about her, but I don’t think I could tell you a lot — I don’t really pay attention. To be honest, I think it’s all a bit silly. Maybe I just don’t get what’s so fun about ghost stories.” She turned her gaze back to Gleb’s apologetically. “That’s not what you were hoping to hear, though, is it? I’m sorry. I guess I’m really not the best informant.” </p>
  <p>Oddly, tension seemed to roll off his back like a boulder. “On the contrary, Anya — thank you for putting my mind at ease.” His tone was a bit more casual now, less stilted. “These rumors are a threat to the very survival of the new Russia. Knowing that <i>you</i>, at least, have the sense not to waste your time on them is… Well, let’s just say it’s one less thing for me to worry about.”</p>
  <p>“It’s not as bad as you think.” Anya rolled her eyes. “It’s just rumors, Gleb — just gossip. Lots of people liked Anastasia, so now everyone imagines that she’s still alive. It’s an innocent enough fantasy.” </p>
  <p>“No, Anya. A dangerous one. If Anastasia were still alive, I’d —” </p>
  <p>Suddenly, his dark brown irises darted away. He looked like he was second-guessing the thing he’d been about to say.</p>
  <p>“Well, it doesn’t matter,” he decided. “Suffice to say I’m glad you keep to the straight and narrow… Which, in fact, leads me to my next question.”</p>
  <p>Anya nodded. “All right. What’s that?” </p>
  <p>“You see — much of the work that I do consists in hunting down traitors to the motherland,” Gleb said. “There is a certain individual I’m chasing after — a conman. I wouldn’t exactly call him a counterrevolutionist, but he certainly seems bent on wrecking public morale as much as he possibly can.” He turned to her with an inquisitive glance. “Perhaps you have heard of him; he goes by the name of Dmitry. What can you tell me about him, Anya? If anything at all?”</p>
  <p>Anya’s lips puckered in fake concentration. She pretended to be deep in thought.</p>
  <p>“Okay, so… Dmitry, the conman,” she whispered dramatically. “Let me think. So I know that he… um… cons people?”</p>
  <p>Gleb smiled. “Very astute.”</p>
  <p>Anya poked out her tongue. “Sorry. I’d just never heard of him before.”</p>
  <p>She took a moment to marvel at her own acting skills. That’d been a fairly convincing performance.</p>
  <p>In reality, the conman Gleb was after sounded an awful lot like the one <i>she’d</i> been keeping her eyes peeled for ever since she’d set foot in Petersburg. Dmitry… Apparently, the only guy in Russia who could get her the papers she needed — and a one-way ticket to Paris.</p>
  <p>She’d been wondering why he was so hard to find. Usually, she was good at asking around and getting to meet face-to-face with whoever she needed to talk to. Now, it was clear as day — Dmitry probably slept in a bunker with an eye open, just waiting for the Cheka to come knocking.</p>
  <p>“Ah, Anya. Your words are music to my ears,” Gleb was saying. </p>
  <p>“Really? Well, then I’m glad you like what you hear, comrade.” </p>
  <p>On second thought… Maybe the true reason she’d managed to deceive Gleb was that he seemed to have a bit of a soft spot for her, for whatever reason.</p>
  <p>And, now, she wasn’t sure which of two conflicting feelings she felt more strongly. Part of her thought it was extremely lucky that the most dangerous man in Petersburg happened to like her so much that he wasn’t very good at interrogating her. But she also felt like such a skunk for taking advantage of his faith in her. </p>
  <p>“So — why are you telling me all this?” she asked him. “I’m guessing this Dmitry’s got something to do with the princess?” </p>
  <p>“That is correct,” Gleb said with a solemn nod. “He and his accomplice — a certain Vladimir Popov — are searching for a young woman they can pass off as Anastasia. Their plan is to find a girl to play the part — teach her what to say, dress her up, and smuggle her out of Russia. They’re hoping the Dowager Empress in exile, Maria Feodorovna, will fall for their little farce so they can collect the reward for her granddaughter’s safe return.”</p>
  <p>Anya scowled at the ice beneath them. “That’s horrible.” </p>
  <p>And she meant it. Her respect for Dmitry had just crumbled into nonexistence. </p>
  <p>“Indeed,” Gleb muttered. His lips turned up in a grim smile. “That is the reason why you’re hearing this from me. The conman has been prowling the streets of late, looking for naive young women he can drag into his schemes. It should go without saying that any would-be Anastasias he beguiles will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law — the same as him.”</p>
  <p>He paused and gave her a troubled, sidelong glance. </p>
  <p>Anya felt her face flush in indignation. </p>
  <p>“And you think <i>I’d</i> want to get sucked into his games?” she accused him. “You think I’d volunteer to be some conman’s fake Anastasia — is that it, comrade?” </p>
  <p>“No!” There was a touch of anxiety in Gleb’s voice. “I’m only warning you, Anya — conmen, by their nature, are deceptive. It’d be all too easy for him to approach an honest girl like you and make the most dastardly proposition sound acceptable and harmless —”</p>
  <p>“Well, good thing I’m smart enough to recognize a liar when I see one,” she huffed. </p>
  <p>She decided she’d had enough of being talked down to. She pulled her hand out from under his elbow — </p>
  <p>And a sharp sting just above her wrist caught her by surprise. </p>
  <p>Anya sucked her breath in sharply. The strip of cloth she’d used to bandage her hand fell to the ground. She must’ve ripped it off by pulling a bit too hard. </p>
  <p>“Oh, shoot,” she hissed. Reflexively, she cradled her hand to her belly and hunched protectively over it. In a moment, a hot trickle of blood had started to flow unstoppably from her tiny little cuts all over again. </p>
  <p>Gleb was hovering over her helplessly. “Anya! What’s the matter?”</p>
  <p>“Nothing,” she muttered, pulling herself together. “It’s nothing. I’m all right.” </p>
  <p>She bent down to pick up the rag. It was stiff to the touch, and it was stained a dark, rusty brown, but it was still good to use a few more times.</p>
  <p>“You’re hurt!” Gleb's voice was a mix of shock and concern. “What happened? Was it something I did?”</p>
  <p>“No,” she sighed, annoyed with herself. “No, it was my fault. I knew it was there — I should’ve been more careful. I just… forgot.” </p>
  <p>A blotch of warmth was starting to spread slowly against her stomach. She jerked her hand away from it before she could get any more permanent stains on her coat. When she did so, little crimson droplets dribbled off her wrist and onto the concrete. </p>
  <p>“That looks very serious.” Gleb carefully wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “We need to stop this bleeding immediately. Let me—” </p>
  <p>“No.” Anya snatched her hand away from him. Or... tried to. His grip wasn’t forceful at all — but it was unrelenting. “Gleb — I <i>promise</i> there’s nothing dangerous about this! You don’t have to—” </p>
  <p>“Anya.” His tone was stern and authoritative. “Please.” </p>
  <p>Anya glared into his eyes. And he glowered right back at her. </p>
  <p>But, behind Gleb’s stubbornness, all she saw was his honest desire to patch her up before she passed out on him or something. And she had no idea why, but that was just the thing that undid her from within. It was the fact that he cared. </p>
  <p>She loosened her fingers, and he gently coaxed her fist open. </p>
  <p>And, then, there it was for them to see — the silly thing all this trouble was about. Slowly pooling on her palm, a thin rivulet of blood kept seeping out of the four little nicks her nails had left on her skin. </p>
  <p>Anya stole a glance at Gleb as he studied her injury. All of a sudden, his face was so neutral and focused. Was this how he’d looked, only a little younger and softer, as he’d tended to his wounded comrades in the battlefield?</p>
  <p>She wished she could tell what he was thinking.</p>
  <p>“It’s always like this,” she explained quietly. “It happens <i>every time</i> — doesn’t matter if it’s a splinter, scraped knee… papercut… It’s just a weird quirk I have. Once I start bleeding, it won’t stop. Well — I mean, it <i>does</i> stop eventually, but… it takes forever.”</p>
  <p>Gleb acknowledged her with a nod, but didn’t say anything. He reached into the pocket of his coat — he pulled out a cotton handkerchief and then wrapped it expertly around her palm, tied it in place with a firm tug. The lovely white fabric turned bright red in one second, ruined forever. </p>
  <p>“I’d heard of cases like yours,” he said. “It’s a very rare hereditary condition — lifelong, unfortunately. You were right; it’s nothing to worry about this time — but rinse your hand as soon as you can to prevent an infection.” His dark eyebrows furrowed as he observed the steadily darkening cloth. “Did you do this to yourself, Anya?” </p>
  <p>“Um…” She looked away. “Yes. I mean — not on purpose! I just…” She tugged her hand away from his. “I don’t want to talk about it.”</p>
  <p>“Did someone try to hurt you?”</p>
  <p>He was gazing at her intently. She fought back the urge to fidget under the weight of his stare. She realized she was absently chewing on her bottom lip as she struggled to figure out what to say. </p>
  <p>But just like earlier, her wits failed her and the silence dragged on. </p>
  <p>“Was it someone at work?” Gleb pressed on. “Your employer, maybe? Is that why you… how did you put it… flipped out on him? You shouldn’t be afraid to tell me, Anya. I can help you.”</p>
  <p>Anya’s stomach churned and roiled. It was so bizarre to have someone actually show concern for her — it was actually kind of addicting — and the strange feeling was starting to chip away at her defenses. Gleb’s voice, gently insistent and reassuring, had almost seduced her into giving in and telling him everything. </p>
  <p>Almost. </p>
  <p>But then she remembered how she’d practically cracked Plisetsky’s skull open. And he’d just tried to feel her up. She was still the one likelier to get thrown in jail for this. </p>
  <p>So she looked away from Gleb’s scrutinizing gaze. </p>
  <p>“Honestly, Gleb,” she said flippantly. “Not everything is a crime just waiting to be sniffed out! No one hurt me; I just — got chased by some random drunks a while back, and I got away, but I tripped and busted my hands trying not to smash my face on the ground. And that’s the whole story. I just didn’t want to bring it up because, well, it’s embarrassing! But since you <i>really</i> wanted to know — there, I said it. Are you happy?”</p>
  <p>He wasn’t. The corner of Gleb’s lip turned down at her trickery. </p>
  <p>“Anya—” he reproached her. He was about to say something else, but he held back. </p>
  <p>He closed his eyes and rubbed at the bridge of his nose with a finger. </p>
  <p>“All right,” he sighed. “I can see you’ve got this quite under control. It’s been an awfully unlucky day for you, comrade.” </p>
  <p>“Yup. It has.” </p>
  <p>She brought her wounded hand closer to her chest — she glanced away, toward the buildings on the far side of the street. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye — but it was just a fleeting twinge of shame, she knew. It would pass.</p>
  <p>For a moment, neither of them said anything. She was trying to manage her guilt, and he… was kind of annoyed with her. </p>
  <p>Gleb folded his arms and turned toward the sidewalk ahead of them. Maybe he was trying to decide whether he should just get back to his work and leave her behind. A pang of — some nasty feeling — jabbed at her heart. </p>
  <p>“I’m sorry, Gleb,” she mumbled. “I’m really sorry.”</p>
  <p>“Mm?” He turned back to her, shook his head wearily. “No, Anya — why would you be? You’ve done nothing wrong.”</p>
  <p>“I didn’t mean to be so crabby to you,” she insisted. Apologizing always made her squirm, but she was not about to lose the one friend she had. “I’m sorry — you don’t deserve that. I’m— just… today really <i>has</i> been a pretty horrible day, and I… Please, can you forgive me?” </p>
  <p>That worked unexpectedly well. All his gruffness seemed to melt away, and he gave her a lopsided smile. Then — with a kind of elegant, martial grace — he raised his hand to the brim of his hat, took it off, and put it on her head. </p>
  <p>She was sure her face had gone red as a ruby. “Wh-wha—?”</p>
  <p>Gleb burst into mirthful chuckles. “You look adorable. Obviously, this hat was made so that you would wear it.” </p>
  <p>His arms folded again. He grinned shamelessly while she hid her face under the hat’s brim. She just couldn’t keep up with him. </p>
  <p>“Now, I must be heading back to the office,” he said, a bit more serious now. “The next time someone bothers you, <i>please</i> let me know and I’ll see that he is brought to justice. As Deputy Commissioner, I can protect you from anyone — <i>anyone</i>, Anya — and I will not stand by as lowlives try to take advantage of you. Have I made myself clear?” </p>
  <p>She was trying to engage her fierce, argumentative side again — to no avail. Her cheeks still felt a little — or a lot — too warm. He had disarmed her! “Yes, Sir.” </p>
  <p>“Very well.” He lightly brushed a finger under her chin again, just for the briefest second, to tilt her face up. Her pulse quickened and she wondered if he planned on making this a normal part of their conversations now. “One more thing. Meet me tomorrow at noon, at this exact spot.” </p>
  <p>“Um…” Now Anya really needed her brain. She blinked a few times to shake off the spell he’d cast on her. “Okay? But — what for?” </p>
  <p>“You’ll see,” Gleb said, smirking mysteriously. “Soon enough.” </p>
  <p>Her face puckered up into a pout. “What if I want to know right now?” </p>
  <p>“Good things come to those who wait,” he said, savoring her impatience. “Until then—” He nodded politely to her. “Take care, Anya. And try not to get yourself into trouble.” </p>
  <p>“Fine,” she groused, defeated. But, inevitably, he stole another smile from her. “See you tomorrow, Gleb.” </p>
  <p>He gave her another nod of farewell, smiled — and then turned and strode off down the sidewalk. </p>
  <p>For a few moments, Anya stood there and watched him go. She distractedly noted that she liked him better without his hat — because that gave his sleekly combed, raven-black hair more of a chance to shine — </p>
  <p>Then she realized something important. </p>
  <p>“Gleb!” she called after him. People walking nearby gave her slack-jawed stares and she corrected herself. “Erm — I mean — officer, wait! I still have your hat!” </p>
  <p>A few paces away, Gleb grinned at her over his shoulder. “Keep it,” he called back. “It’s yours. It looks better on you, anyhow!” </p>
  <p>And, with that, he blithely sauntered on. </p>
  <p>Anya found herself staring after him, baffled. The gawking looks she was getting from the people around her were just torture — she had to scamper away into a deserted alleyway to process what had just happened. </p>
  <p>All her feelings were a confused glob of bubbly sugariness. She suddenly felt like she could sprint all the way to Moscow and back — as if this had been the very best day of her life, and not the worst. </p>
  <p>As she leaned against a brick wall, she closed her eyes and thought she was maybe going insane. Her brain must be broken from the hunger and the lack of sleep — and she couldn’t bring herself to be upset about that, which should be even more upsetting in itself. Still — there were only two things taking up every inch of space inside her head. The first was the new cotton bandage snugly wrapped around her palm — with the accompanying memory of the firm, careful fingers that had managed to stop her bleeding. The second was the hat that now rested atop her head, and its lingering musky fragrance of citrus trees and sandalwood — all at once mysterious and warm and intoxicating. </p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The First Kiss Ever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, comrades! As promised, this one took two weeks to write instead of one — but it's twice the length of a normal chapter, too! And, hopefully, a very fun read. :) </p><p>Someday I'll conquer my nasty tendency of updating one day late :')</p><p>Oh — hey, guess what! :D We're now over the 25,000-word mark, you guys! So — I just really want to thank every single one of you reading this now. Thank you so, so much for lending your hearts and minds and eyeballs to this fic!</p><p>Please accept this less-than-three as proof of my love for you: &lt;3</p><p>Now, the problematic bit is, we haven't even gotten through the first quarter of the plot. Lol, darn it. XD So I had to update the estimated chapter count.</p><p>All right, and I think that's all the news I have for you today. No more preambles! Happy reading, everyone! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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  <p>As a young boy, Gleb had learned from his father that the hallmark of a man of honor was the extent to which he could be relied upon. He must never be negligent in his duties, must never be late for appointments — and, most importantly, he must never make a lady wait. It was a simple maxim and a timeless piece of wisdom. One which he had irreproachably observed throughout the years as he himself had become a man at his father’s knee.</p>
  <p>And, thus — a little earlier than a quarter to noon, he arrived at the spot where he had last seen his favorite citizen. </p>
  <p>He hadn’t failed to raise eyebrows as he’d left the office a half-hour past. When it came to fostering zeal and diligence in the service of the motherland, he led by example; he normally devoted himself to his work some twelve hours a day, seven days a week. This morning, as he’d readied himself for a little trip outside, he’d inevitably attracted curious looks from his underlings — though only Volkov and Fyodora had mustered up the nerve to question him about it:</p>
  <p>“Hey, Vaganov! Where you off to?” </p>
  <p>“Will you look at that! The man is <i>finally</i> giving himself a break! Gleb, <i>please</i> tell me you’re off to meet a girl.” </p>
  <p>He’d promptly doled out some new orders for them, heaping a few extra tasks on top of their workload. Clearly, if they had time to pester him, they weren’t busy enough. </p>
  <p>So it was that, at present, he stood and waited. He decided to lean against a nearby lamppost; he shifted a little to rest somewhat more comfortably against the frigid iron pole. The warm paper bag he carried in his hand crinkled at his side. </p>
  <p>Passersby scampered fearfully by him, as they ever did, shooting him anxious glances over their shoulders. For once, catching hushed conversations about the princess Anastasia wasn’t quite as irksome as it usually was. Today, the rumors seemed more of a bothersome hum, like the buzzing of a megaphone — barely noticeable, easily ignored. </p>
  <p>Gleb absently fixed his eyes on a thin rivulet of melted ice that trickled quietly next to the sidewalk. He tuned out the noise from the chatter and the traffic on the street. And he thought of Anya.</p>
  <p>It was becoming something of a pastime, frankly. Reflecting on his past interactions with her. Yesterday, the lovable little scamp had claimed for herself every spare moment he’d had at work. At every lull in between one task and the next — every time he’d sip at a cup of tea to refresh his mind… As surely as the Neva flowed westward, Gleb’s mind would constantly end up drifting in her direction.</p>
  <p>He wondered about the girl’s puzzling, mysterious misadventures. The unknowable thoughts that flickered and raced behind her clever, sky-blue eyes.</p>
  <p>At times, he indulged in the memory of those thrilling crimson blushes he’d managed to coax out of her the last time they’d spoken. And her bashful smiles, and her giggling —</p>
  <p>And then he’d remember the tears that had gathered in her eyes against her will.</p>
  <p>Too often, he’d find himself mulling on that: the silent sorrow that had bowed her head, overpowering her courage for the briefest fraction of a second. He thought of her anxious, hesitant pauses — her squirming and fidgeting — her fumbling nervousness, her excuses —</p>
  <p>And her lies.</p>
  <p>And the secret struggles she would not entrust him with.</p>
  <p>He sighed.</p>
  <p>Knowing what he knew now — it was absolutely reprehensible that the girl had attempted to traverse the country on foot, fully aware of her condition as a hemophiliac. If something as minor as a nick on her skin was enough to trigger her incessant bleeding, then it was nothing short of a miracle that she had lived to see this day. And that was only the first of her problems. Who knew what hardships she was battling her way through now on top of that, entirely on her own?</p>
  <p>She was as fearless as she was powerless. A street cat who had the soul of a tiger. A short-tempered little warrior who turned up her chin at the cruel whims of fate — trembling like a flower as she did so. </p>
  <p>Truly, it was all rather mind-boggling. Never had he met someone in such great need of assistance — a steadfast friend to lighten her burdens. And yet, she was so averse to receiving any sort of comfort or help. It was an utterly maddening foible of hers.</p>
  <p>With luck, today he’d come closer to untying that knot.</p>
  <p>“Gleb!” </p>
  <p>His eyes snapped up at the sound of her voice. He smiled. A couple of meters away, the subject of all his musings was making her way over to him at a light pace — halfway between a jog and a sprightly walk. </p>
  <p>And she looked unbearably adorable in his hat. </p>
  <p>“Anya,” he greeted her. Calmly, of course. A peculiar sense of eagerness seemed to have filled him up at the sight of her, but she certainly didn’t need to know this. </p>
  <p>As she approached him, he straightened up and discreetly shoved his free hand into the pocket of his coat. Yesterday, he had touched her too much. As she’d struggled to fight back her tears, he’d felt such pity for her that he had reached out and gently coaxed her chin up; he’d meant to cut through her despair and offer her what little consolation he could. Regrettably, however, that simple gesture had awoken a hunger in him — it’d left a tingling in his fingers, a fiendish craving to touch her again, at least once more. Despite the fact that he’d got her to walk arm-in-arm with him on that same day.</p>
  <p>Well, he’d had enough time to agonize about it in the quiet of his office. He had been raised better than this! For shame. </p>
  <p>He was determined to keep his hands to himself this time.</p>
  <p>Anya skidded to a stop in front of him. She wore a bright grin on her pretty face. “Good morning, officer.”</p>
  <p>“How do you do, comrade?” he asked jovially. She seemed to be in higher spirits than when he’d seen her last — this was good news. “Faring better today?” </p>
  <p>“Um—” She contemplated the question. “Yes! Yes, I… I guess I <i>do</i> feel a lot better now, come to think of it.” </p>
  <p>“I’m glad to hear it,” Gleb said sincerely, nodding his approval. “How’s your hand?”</p>
  <p>She brought up her wounded hand to her chest with an oddly rueful smile. “It’s healed now. Well — you know — scars and all, but—” </p>
  <p>Her eyes darted off to the side; briefly, her lips pressed together in hesitation. </p>
  <p>“You… really got it to stop giving me trouble,” she mumbled. “I... You were so — I realized I never thanked you for it, and —” </p>
  <p>“Please, don’t mention it.” He held up a hand to stop her. “It was the least I could do. In truth, there’s nothing more to it than applying a little pressure in the right way — that’s all.”</p>
  <p>“Yeah, but — still.” Her lips parted in a wry smile. “Really — I almost wish I could have you there with me next time it happens. I can never get the bleeding to stop so quickly.” </p>
  <p>“It’s a very simple thing,” Gleb assured her. “Easy to learn. You only need to understand how the body works—”</p>
  <p>In a flash of insight, he realized this was the perfect excuse to nail down his next meeting with her, in the event that all he hoped to achieve today should fail. He had to mask a sudden surge of enthusiasm.</p>
  <p>“For you, especially, Anya — knowing how to properly deal with an open wound seems like a useful skill to have,” he continued, trying to sound quite dispassionate and neutral. “Perhaps I could teach you sometime.”</p>
  <p>“Really?” She was leaning forward slightly. “You would do that?” </p>
  <p>“Of course.” </p>
  <p>Her eyes sparkled. She seemed to grin despite herself as she pondered the idea. “That’s—!” </p>
  <p>But she stopped herself. “I mean, that would be… really nice,” she said with measured interest. </p>
  <p>“Indeed,” he said decisively. “It’s settled, then.”</p>
  <p>Anya smiled down at her boots. Gleb was unable to suppress a grin as he observed her self-consciousness. What a favorable coincidence that this subject had come up! The prospect of teaching her something — sharing with her some of the survival skills he’d acquired in the army… Well, it was such a simple, ordinary thing, wasn’t it? But perhaps he had reason to believe she looked forward to it as much as he did. </p>
  <p>It certainly was an encouraging thought. </p>
  <p>A voice in the back of his mind told him that he’d let the silence lengthen — again. Seconds were passing and there he stood, simpering like an idiot.</p>
  <p>“Ah—” he uttered pathetically, fumbling in his mind for something to say. Mercifully, he then recalled the purpose of this meeting; he remembered that he was a man on a mission. And the script for this conversation again took shape in his mind. </p>
  <p>“Now, comrade—” he began, clearing his throat. “Thank you for coming. You must be wondering why I summoned you here.” </p>
  <p>Anya bobbed on her tiptoes, betraying a burst of avid curiosity. “Yes.” </p>
  <p>Gleb flattered himself with the notion that she might’ve spent some time speculating about this. </p>
  <p>He nodded. “Well, after our chat yesterday — and seeing the trouble you seem to have landed yourself in — I thought I might prepare a little surprise to cheer you up.” </p>
  <p>He studied her expression as he spoke. Her brow creased as she tried to guess what he was getting at. </p>
  <p>“A surprise,” she echoed, pressing for more.</p>
  <p>“Hopefully, a very pleasant one.”</p>
  <p><i>‘‘Hopefully’ seems like an accurate term,’</i> he thought fleetingly. A pesky sliver of uncertainty pricked at his resolution to remain optimistic about this. Only for one moment of weakness. </p>
  <p>Yes — hopefully.</p>
  <p>“What is it?” she asked. </p>
  <p>“It’s something that might help improve your current situation,” he hinted. “Of course, only if you’re interested. I don’t doubt that you’re more than capable of wrestling with your problems on your own — but, still, I believe you’ll be pleased with the news I have for you today.” </p>
  <p>“Okay,” Anya pressed on. “<i>So...?</i>”</p>
  <p>Gleb smiled. </p>
  <p>Ah, he shouldn’t enjoy teasing her as much as he did. </p>
  <p>“So — as it happens, there’s a park just a stone’s throw from here,” he said. “It’s nothing very noteworthy, but it’s pleasant enough, and quiet enough. How about we go for a walk there, Anya? And then I’ll tell you everything.” </p>
  <p>Yes, it was the worst of bait-and-switch tactics. Absolutely unscrupulous. Premeditated, too.</p>
  <p>He was not repentant about it in the slightest.</p>
  <p>Much the way he’d imagined, Anya looked indignant at the thought of having to wait. She opened her mouth to protest.</p>
  <p>“<i>And</i>,” he continued. He held out the present he’d bought for her. “Perhaps I’ll treat you to some pirozhki along the way.” </p>
  <p>It was an appeasement gift of sorts. Now that he’d been acquainted with her peculiarly feral temper, he’d thought he might trigger just this sort of reaction from her. So he’d come prepared.</p>
  <p>Anya’s eyes snapped to the brown paper packet dangling from his fingers — but she easily sniffed out his less-than-noble intentions. </p>
  <p>“Pirozhki?” Her eyes narrowed — she leveled a defiant smile at him. “First tea and now this? You know, you can’t get me to go wherever you like just by trying to tempt me with food, Officer Vaganov.” </p>
  <p>“I’m well aware of it, comrade,” he said, grinning. “Which is why I’m putting forward my best offer. Street food, somewhat scenic sights, and a notable absence of backfiring vehicles. And, hopefully, decent enough company. Is that an acceptable way to spend some twenty minutes of your time, Anya?” </p>
  <p>She considered it. She battled fiercely with her own impatience. And, then, she sighed.</p>
  <p>“I guess it is,” she said. She took the bag in both hands. Her smile warmed up a little as she fought back the urge to peek inside. “Thank you, comrade.” </p>
  <p>“You’re very welcome,” he said merrily. “Please, go ahead. It’s all for you.”</p>
  <p>“Are you sure?” she asked. Even as her fingers seemed to grip the bag a little tighter without her noticing. “We could share!” </p>
  <p>Gleb chuckled at her thoughtfulness. </p>
  <p>“Oh, no — I had some tea barely moments ago,” he insisted. (It wasn’t untrue if one squinted.) “But thank you, Anya.”</p>
  <p>Satisfied, she couldn’t help biting her lip in anticipation as she tore the bag open. Gleb had to dissimulate another pang of pity. Of course she was ravenously hungry today as well, he thought, as they set forth in the direction of the park. He fervently hoped she’d eaten something — anything — since he’d bought her breakfast at that tea shop. She might be strong as the best of Bolsheviks, but there was only so much her little feminine body could take before reaching the point of collapse. </p>
  <p>These thoughts made him heave a sigh as Anya wolfed down her pirozhki. He comforted himself with the fact that, if she could be made to see reason, her fortunes would improve soon—</p>
  <p>Suddenly, a boat-shaped pastry was being waved in front of his face — the smell of fried meat and onions wafted up his nose. </p>
  <p>“Um… can anyone hear me?” Anya was saying. “Gleb?”</p>
  <p>He caught her wrist — he could barely see where he was going — and returned it to its rightful place at its owner’s side. “Yes?” </p>
  <p>She smiled sweetly. “Sorry. I’d just finished telling you the story of my life, and then I realized you’d zoned out.” </p>
  <p>He could only laugh to express his embarrassment. “I’m terribly sorry. Please tell it again.”</p>
  <p>Anya grinned. “Actually, I was saying you should have at least one of these.” Her hand again went up to brandish the pirozhki at him. “They’re delicious.” </p>
  <p>He didn’t doubt that they were. He simply was not about to rob her a single one of those precious, filling, protein-rich meat buns. </p>
  <p>He shook his head decisively. “That’s very kind of you—”</p>
  <p>“Come on, Gleb,” she half-pleaded, half-demanded. “It’s bad enough that I can’t pay you back for the rogaliki, since I’ve got no job now. And then — your hat! This hat’s just — it keeps the sun out of my eyes, and it’s warm — and it’s such a… great pillow.” (Her cheeks tinged pink as she confessed to this.) “And now — <i>these</i>!” She shook the weighty paper packet in frustration. “And — guess what? — I can’t repay you for <i>these</i>, either! It’s awful, Gleb, but there’s <i>one thing</i> I can do in return for all this stuff you keep throwing at me. And that’s — well, you could at least take one. Or as many as you like.” She held out the open bag to him. The look in her eyes evoked the pathos of a kitten lost in the rain. “Won’t you <i>please</i> take some?”</p>
  <p>For an instant, he felt imperiously tempted to accept that one pirozhki just to let her have her way. </p>
  <p>But his desire that she have something to eat tomorrow was greater. So he lifted up a hand in polite refusal, and that urge was vanquished.</p>
  <p>“Thank you truly, comrade. I’m afraid I have to decline.”</p>
  <p>She looked a tad crestfallen. </p>
  <p>“You don’t need to pay me back for anything, Anya,” he said, quite seriously. “I don’t want you to think you are indebted to me. From now on, if I give you something, simply consider it a gesture of friendship, and don’t think about it too much.” </p>
  <p>She was dissatisfied with the idea. “But—” </p>
  <p>“<i>However</i>…” He held up a finger to stop her. “If you absolutely cannot rest until you’ve satisfied your strange sense of honor — then, there <i>is</i> a favor I’d like to ask you.” </p>
  <p>Anya rolled up the mouth of the bag and stuffed it away in her coat’s pocket. Her eyes were pinned on him expectantly. “Okay?” </p>
  <p>“<i>Do</i> tell me the story of your life. I’d love to hear it.” </p>
  <p>She looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. </p>
  <p>“Really?” she asked in disbelief. “<i>That’s</i> what you want?”</p>
  <p>“Of course,” he said. “I’ve been intrigued about the mystery of your past ever since you told me how far you traveled to get here. I’m sure it must be quite the story.” </p>
  <p>Anya looked away from him. Wrinkling her nose, she gazed forward at the crowd coming and going all around them. </p>
  <p>“It’s not that good,” she said. “It’s not fun to listen to, I don’t think.”</p>
  <p>“I’d be honored if you told me,” he said earnestly. </p>
  <p>“You would?” </p>
  <p>But it seemed she didn’t need an answer from him. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye — her shoulders were slightly hunched under the weight of her thoughts. She was unsure, or troubled, for reasons known only to her. </p>
  <p>She was silent for a long moment. </p>
  <p>As he waited for her to emerge from her preoccupation, Gleb led them away from the main avenue, down the quieter side street that led to the park. It was early March, and those trees which had given up their foliage to survive this year’s harsh winter — the aspens and the birches — were still bare, apparently dead and withered to the naked eye. The hardy evergreen conifers — the pines and spruces, firs and cedars — stood tall and lush, though weighted down with a few days’ worth of ice and snow. The resulting mix of snow-capped cones and crooked branches was rather picturesque in a way he couldn’t quite describe. </p>
  <p>By degrees, the noise from the street began to recede. The prattling of the crowd and the sputtering of car engines quieted down — almost entirely, though not quite — and he became aware of the birdsong that hung in the still, cold air. </p>
  <p>Closing his eyes, Gleb breathed in the quiet and the calm. And listened. </p>
  <p>“You don’t spend lots of time outdoors, do you, Commissioner?” Anya said — there was a playful twinkle in her eye. “Other than — when you’re, you know, on patrol.” </p>
  <p>“Very perceptive, comrade.” He was happy to have her back with him.</p>
  <p>“Not really,” she said. “It’s just the way you look around. Like you’ve never seen a park before, except in pictures.” </p>
  <p>That stole a chuckle from him. “Ah, that’s truer than I care to admit. I do spend most of my time at the office. My workday begins near seven o’clock in the morning, and ends around half past eight at night.”</p>
  <p>“Really? Isn’t that... too much?”</p>
  <p>“It’s not enough,” he said wholeheartedly. “Russia will not rise from her ashes if she has only slackers and sluggards to fight for her. I’d work longer hours if I could. Unfortunately, by nightfall after a busy day I’m very much at the end of my rope.”</p>
  <p>“I’d be dead tired.” She nodded. “So — I guess what you’re saying is — your work is your life.” </p>
  <p>“It is.” Her words echoed and resonated in his mind, ringing truer every second. “Yes, that is exactly right.” </p>
  <p>“I still think it’s too much,” Anya affirmed. “Especially with <i>your</i> job. What you have to do for a living is — well, basically, spying on everybody and listening to gossip, and getting people arrested, and — just — so much killing, all the time.” She clamped a hand over her mouth in sudden apprehension. “I’m sorry — I didn’t mean any of that in a bad way — I just think that’s what you chekists do! I don’t even really know!” She gazed up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “You’re not offended, are you?” </p>
  <p>Gleb smiled at her indulgently. “Not at all, Anya.” </p>
  <p>After all, why indeed should he be? She had summarized the core of his profession almost perfectly. “You only forgot to mention dealing with my peers,” he said. “All of them, insufferable bureaucrats just like me.”</p>
  <p>She let out a little chuckle. It seemed to carry more relief than amusement. </p>
  <p>“I suppose the work that we do in the Cheka is not for the faint of heart,” he went on, reflecting aloud. “I’ve heard it said that the new order is a beast that feeds on human flesh. I think that’s true. But this bloodshed is the cost of progress — and a man does what’s necessary, Anya.” </p>
  <p>She hummed in not-exactly-agreement.</p>
  <p>Had she been someone else, his response to her lack of patriotic zeal would have been quite severe. In other jurisdictions, her subdued apathy toward the national project would be seen as reason enough for her to be executed, or put behind bars for an indefinite number of years. </p>
  <p>But she was no counterrevolutionist — Anya simply was herself. She was a work in progress. In time, he was sure he could foster a little love for their country in her heart.</p>
  <p>Then there was a pleasant lull in their conversation. He directed their steps toward a solitary wooden bench that stood in the shadow of a tall cedar. Bending down, he brushed away what little snow had filtered through the tree’s needles and gestured for Anya to take a seat. </p>
  <p>Except... she didn’t. </p>
  <p>“So…” She rocked back and forth on her feet, like a restless child. </p>
  <p>He suppressed a smile as he watched her do this. “Yes?” </p>
  <p>“So — we’re here,” she said. And she halted her swaying with an air of finality.</p>
  <p>He nodded, trying to puzzle out what that might mean. “We are.” </p>
  <p>Anya bit her lip. “You promised when we got here, you’d tell me everything,” she blurted. “Not that it isn’t fun being out here with you! It is! I just—” She wrung her hands. “Gleb, I’m sorry — I <i>really</i> need to know. What was that… surprise thing you wanted to show me?” </p>
  <p>The realization practically knocked his breath out of him — so engrossed had he been in their little chat. “Ah! I did promise, didn’t I? You’re absolutely right; my apologies, Anya. Here—” </p>
  <p>He shoved a hand beneath his coat — he promptly retrieved the thin paper card from his chest pocket. </p>
  <p>The card itself was exactly the kind he kept lying around on his desk. It was blank except for the name and address he had scrawled on it. Anya held it in her hands, and her eyebrows scrunched together in concentration as she tried to make sense of his scribblings. </p>
  <p>“Nevsky Prospekt 151-A,” she read. “Dominik... Gorev?”</p>
  <p>She frowned quizzically up at him. “What is this?” </p>
  <p>“Comrade Gorev is an old friend of mine,” he explained. “He is an excellent man — right-minded, honest. He is in charge of a small but busy stolovaya on the Nevsky Prospekt. The place is clean, the food is excellent — and, of course, he treats his workers well.” </p>
  <p>At this point, he had to look away from her inquisitive eyes. He chose to fix his gaze on the lone raven that was perched on a naked birch off to the side. </p>
  <p>Suddenly, he realized that a peculiar sense of nervousness was building up in the pit of his stomach — and that he was anxiously tapping his fingertips together. He folded his hands behind his back to stop his fidgeting.</p>
  <p>He quickly went over the possible lines of argument he might pursue if she should yet again refuse to accept his help.</p>
  <p>The minute she’d announced to him that she was out of a job, Gleb had understood that he must act without delay — and so he had. First and foremost, for completely selfish purposes of his own. And, also, with Anya’s best interests at heart.</p>
  <p>In a sense, he was competing with the girl’s admirable resilience — yes, he knew — and there was a chance she might object to this entire project. But this was a matter of great urgency. If he failed to keep her grounded within his jurisdiction now, it might well be that she’d run off to some other district looking for work. Then, she would simply disappear from one day to the next — and he would never see her again.</p>
  <p>“As it happens, Anya, that stolovaya is directly within my patrol route,” he continued carefully. “After I… spoke to you yesterday, I thought I might drop in — I asked Dominik if he could provide employment for a dutiful, strong, exemplary young woman I know.”</p>
  <p>Anya’s face lit up with understanding. Her eyes grew wide; her mouth dropped open.</p>
  <p>“He was very generous. He said he’d be delighted to have you,” Gleb finished. Sadly unable to calm down his nerves, he smiled. “How about it, comrade? Are you ready to go back to work?”</p>
  <p>But Anya did not respond. A myriad thoughts were silently racing behind her dumbfounded expression. </p>
  <p>“Gleb—” she said.</p>
  <p>And, slowly — in short, disjointed, bewildered motions — she shook her head. </p>
  <p>He swallowed dryly; there was a hollow feeling in his abdomen. </p>
  <p>Swiftly, his first line of argumentation came to his aid. He willed his thoughts to get back into formation; his hands came up to help him cajole and persuade — </p>
  <p>And then Anya threw her arms around him. </p>
  <p>It’d been such a sudden motion — faster than the speed of reflex. His hat, which had been sitting prettily atop her head, tumbled to the ground as she buried her face in his chest; her hands clenched on fistfuls of his coat at his back. She held him tightly — fiercely — more so than anyone ever had in his entire life. </p>
  <p>His face was burning. His neck, his ears were burning. Every single part of him, she’d set aflame. </p>
  <p>There was no hope that she couldn’t hear the erratic galloping of his heart.</p>
  <p>“How can you be so good to me?” Anya’s muffled whisper drifted to his ears. There was a thickness to her voice, like she was about to cry. “What have I ever done for you to treat me like this?”</p>
  <p>He wished he could answer. But his mind had temporarily stopped functioning.</p>
  <p>He then noticed his hands were hovering awkwardly above her as she stood wrapped around his torso. With tremendous hesitation — as though he had to teach himself how to embrace a fellow human — he stiffly jerked his arms into position around her waist and her shoulders. </p>
  <p>Very, very carefully. Not too tightly. He was fearful he may offend her womanly dignity. </p>
  <p>They remained like this for one moment more. In those few seconds, the tension in his shoulders gradually ebbed out of him. The feel of Anya’s delicate little body pressed to his, he knew, had seared itself into his memory forever. A strange new feeling — a craving for her that verged on greed — had sprung into being deep within him. Irrationally, he desired that she never touch any other male acquaintance of hers, ever again. </p>
  <p>And then — much too soon — she began to let go of him. He felt her arms loosen — and immediately, he withdrew and took a step back. With all the politeness and grace he could muster. </p>
  <p>A heart-stopping blush was spread across Anya’s cheeks. She gave him a smile that was full of warmth, and gratitude, and unfamiliar emotions he didn’t know the name for. </p>
  <p>As for him — well, at present, his face must be redder than the Soviet flag. Helplessly, he let out a laugh of embarrassment — his breath billowed upward in a hot, steamy cloud of fog. This prompted a giggle from Anya, which also puffed up warmly into the air. </p>
  <p>His unmanly tendency to fidget returned with a vengeance. Drawing in a conspicuous breath through his nose, he nodded. Then he tugged at the collar of his uniform.</p>
  <p>Anya glanced down at the snow-burnt grass and tucked her hair behind her ear. </p>
  <p>At last, Gleb understood that there was no way to come off this situation with the smallest shred of respectability. Giving up, he crumpled down on the bench with a sigh. The wooden seat creaked as Anya sat down daintily next to him. </p>
  <p>“I take it you want the job, then,” he croaked. </p>
  <p>“Oh, Gleb,” she said tenderly. “I can’t even… You are the kindest, <i>noblest</i>—” She paused and tried to string her thoughts together. “Why are you so generous to me? I haven’t done anything to deserve your friendship — but I’m so grateful, and I’m so glad that I met you. And — I know it doesn’t amount to much, but really, all I can say is — thank you.” </p>
  <p>She touched a small, warm hand to his shoulder and leaned forward earnestly. “Thank you, Gleb. Yes — I’d really like to work for your friend! Thank you. I’m sorry I’m not as good to you as you deserve.” </p>
  <p>That had to be the most heartfelt speech he had ever heard. </p>
  <p>Reaching up, he clasped his hand on top of hers. He gave it a light squeeze to return the gesture — and, pleased with that, she pulled back. At once, the frigid air chased away the warmth she’d left on his skin.</p>
  <p>“I’m not good, Anya,” he said frankly. “You simply bring out the best in men.”</p>
  <p>She gave a dry chuckle. </p>
  <p>“Or the worst,” she said wryly. </p>
  <p>“There’s plenty of work in Leningrad for a citizen like you,” he continued. “I don’t doubt that you’d have found something on your own eventually. But I’m very glad this makes you happy.”</p>
  <p>“It does,” she said candidly — and then she laughed at her own situation. “You have no idea how much I need that job.”</p>
  <p>Perhaps he did. </p>
  <p>Perhaps that was part of the reason he had done this for her. Perhaps he hoped that, by setting positive precedents such as this one, he might eventually tear down her walls of secrecy and distrust toward him.</p>
  <p>By way of an answer, he smiled at her. </p>
  <p>“But, anyway, I’m sorry I hugged you,” she said sheepishly. “I just kind of got carried away — I couldn’t help it. I crossed a line, didn’t I?” </p>
  <p>“Not at all,” he assured her. “Thank you, Anya. It’s a welcome gesture.” </p>
  <p>She clasped her hands together for a second. Then a gleeful spark lit up in her cobalt eyes.</p>
  <p>“So you don’t mind if I do it again?” she asked.</p>
  <p>Pathetically, his pulse picked up at the proposition. He shifted in his seat — which he hoped would escape her notice. “By all means — go ahead.” </p>
  <p>Her grin widened. “And what about… after today? Now I can hug you whenever I like?” </p>
  <p><i>‘Is she doing this on purpose?’</i> he wondered miserably. His face once again started to heat up — how sorely he regretted ever having stolen a blush from her. </p>
  <p>“I don’t see why not,” he said.</p>
  <p>Satisfied, she proceeded to fold herself around his arm. This time, however, there was no wild burst of eagerness to propel her forward. She seemed much more unsteady — more uncertain and bashful — as her hands latched on to the sleeve of his coat. </p>
  <p>Slowly — experimentally — she leaned into him. She lowered her head and let it rest on his shoulder. </p>
  <p>Gleb reminded himself to breathe. </p>
  <p>She wordlessly held on to him like that for… well, he wasn’t quite sure how long. It might’ve been only a few blissful minutes — but, to him, the moment seemed eternal. Like every clock in Russia had temporarily stopped ticking.</p>
  <p>After a while, the tension in Anya’s small frame began to dissipate — and, likewise, the rigid tautness in his shoulders came undone. Careful not to startle her, he adjusted his position so she could rest a tad more comfortably against him.</p>
  <p>She gave an oddly childlike giggle. </p>
  <p>“This actually feels really nice, doesn’t it, Gleb?” she asked. </p>
  <p>With surprising ease, he hummed in agreement. </p>
  <p>“Can I ask you a question?” she ventured softly. </p>
  <p>“Of course.”</p>
  <p>“When was the last time you hugged someone?” </p>
  <p>“Hmm.” His eyes flicked upward, toward the radiant azure sky. No ready answer came to him, and his brow furrowed he tried to recall an instance of his having given or received a hug prior to this day. He quickly sifted through an ever-lengthening string of memories, stretching back and back and back—</p>
  <p>At last, a picture began to form in his mind’s eye. Faded at the edges, like an old photograph. </p>
  <p>“Roughly a decade ago,” he replied. </p>
  <p>Tilting her head up, Anya regarded him curiously. </p>
  <p>“It was my mother,” he said. “The day I set off to join the army. I believe I was in quite a hurry, worrying I might miss my train, but she—”</p>
  <p>Then the vision unfolded with crisp clarity before him. His younger self, casting anxious glances at the clock as his mother held him captive on their doorstep. She was fuzzing over his hair, straightening his lapels — Gleb, you forgot your coat, you silly boy. He’d been about to bite out some impatient remark when she had kissed his forehead and pulled him into her arms —</p>
  <p>Some unbidden, mournful feeling tugged at his heart; his chest ached. He pushed the memory back into the void from whence it’d come. </p>
  <p>“I— can’t recall much else,” he lied. </p>
  <p>Anya’s look of sympathy let him know she could see right through him. A deep sigh left him and his wistfulness cleared.</p>
  <p>“What about you, Anya?” he asked her.</p>
  <p>It was, of course, the natural thing to ask. One would think it was a simple enough question. But, as she wrestled with it, her face took on a troubled expression. </p>
  <p>“Me?” she said, her voice small. “Well…” </p>
  <p>With a rustle of fabric, she shifted to rest her temple against his shoulder — she’d hid her face away from him. </p>
  <p>“I don’t remember,” she said quietly. </p>
  <p>“It seems that way at first,” he said, trying to encourage her. “Close your eyes and think. There must be—” </p>
  <p>She shook her head against his sleeve. With absolute finality. </p>
  <p>“It doesn’t matter how hard I try,” she murmured. “There’s just — <i>nothing</i> — I can’t remember anything at all. As far as I know, this was my first hug ever, Gleb. And you’re the only friend I’ve ever had.”</p>
  <p>She gazed up at him again. A touch of melancholy had crept into her heart. And yet, the warmth of her smile made her eyes glitter like sapphires.</p>
  <p>“That’s why <i>this</i>, right now, really means something to me,” she said. </p>
  <p>“Anya—” </p>
  <p>The gravity of her words was slowly sinking into his marrow. Gleb tried to sit up straight to face her more fully.</p>
  <p>Anya ferociously gripped his arm; she refused to move. </p>
  <p>“No — don’t say anything — please, let’s just stay like this,” she said urgently. “I’m only telling you all this stuff ’cause you keep asking about it. And… maybe a part of me wants you to know. That’s all. I don’t want your pity, okay?”</p>
  <p>Her eyes bored into his. The intensity of her gaze could melt a block of solid iron.</p>
  <p>He knew then it was absolutely crucial that he do as she asked. So he leaned back on the bench again, honoring her request with his silence. Pleased with this, Anya relaxed once more and continued to rest against him. </p>
  <p>“They said I was found at the side of a road,” she said, after a little while. “It’d recently snowed. There were tracks all around, like someone had just dragged me out of their car and left me there. So there I was — in the darkness and cold, with the wind and the trees. A girl with no name. And no past. And no memories.”</p>
  <p>A trace of sadness wove into her voice. The harrowing scene she was describing took shape before his eyes as she spoke. </p>
  <p>“I remember rain against a window,” she murmured. “Sheets upon a bed. Terrifying nurses whispering above me… and I don’t know a thing before that. They told me I had amnesia. There was nothing they could do about it.”</p>
  <p>She went quiet for a second. She exhaled a heavy sigh as her hand unclenched and then renewed its grip on his sleeve. </p>
  <p>Amnesia.</p>
  <p>Gleb’s heart faltered as he beheld the tragedy she had just unveiled. </p>
  <p>“They had to call me something,” she continued, “so they gave me my name at that hospital. Anya. One of the women was very kind to me — she said, ‘Little girl, soon we’ll have to let you go — we have people waiting, and they need your bed. And then, what will you do?’ I didn’t know anything — I was just totally, completely useless — so she taught me how to hold a broom. How to scrub floors, and wash dishes, and clean windows — that was how I made it through my first winter. I couldn’t have done it if it weren’t for her.” </p>
  <p>Anya paused. “I still think of her now and then. When I’m saying my prayers. She taught me how important it was to work hard — and then I realized, if I worked hard enough, then at night my dreams would be a lot clearer. My dreams are so, so important to me. They—”</p>
  <p>But, at this point, she stopped herself. She seemed hesitant.</p>
  <p>He found himself breaking his oath of silence. “They...?”</p>
  <p>“No, never mind.” She shook her head. “That part doesn’t make sense — I don’t even know what any of it means. You don’t have to hear me ramble about it.”</p>
  <p>His brows knit. “Anya, I’m here to listen. Whatever is on your mind — anything at all, no matter what it may be — you can tell me.”</p>
  <p>“Anything?” Her arms tightened around him. “Are you sure, Gleb? Would you really be okay with <i>anything</i> I told you — you promise you won’t think it’s crazy, or stupid? Or maybe illegal?”</p>
  <p>He had to blink at that. </p>
  <p>So — this was the reason Anya had been so reluctant to trust him until now? Did she think he’d be so shallow as to pass judgment on her? Did she fear he would arrest her for whatever acts of desperation she might have committed in order to survive? </p>
  <p>Worried at his silence, she lifted her eyes to look at him doubtfully. </p>
  <p>He laid his free hand firmly on her shoulder. </p>
  <p>“<i>Anything</i>, Anya,” he said. “I promise you. You have nothing to fear from me.”</p>
  <p>He hoped the solemnity in his tone would pierce through her misgivings. And perhaps it had. She seemed to lean into him with a little more sureness. </p>
  <p>“Okay. Then maybe I’ll tell you what I dream about,” she answered. “One day.” </p>
  <p>He’d have whatever he could get. “Only if you want to.”</p>
  <p>In the light of what he had just learned, his respect and esteem for the consummate survivor presently curled up at his side had deepened exponentially — though he had not known this was possible. At the same time, his desire to assist and protect her did nothing but rise to fever pitch. He couldn’t help but wish he could alleviate half the sorrow she had lived through up until this day. At the very least, he would do all that was in his power to guarantee that this brave, innocent girl — his Anya — would never experience such terrible suffering again.</p>
  <p>His hand was still lightly curled over her shoulder — his thumb was absently stroking the little bump of her collarbone as she clung to his other arm. As if snapping awake from a trance, he became aware of the deep and perplexing closeness that this moment had created between them. A tremor stirred in his stomach — and sent his mind careening along a vastly different path of thought. </p>
  <p>A base and nefarious part of him was pondering a number of things he might do at this point — and which, perhaps, Anya would not object to. He might allow his fingers to wander upward and lightly stroke her beautiful, matted, golden hair. Or he could let his hand slide over the curve of her shoulder, ever so gently, and caress the length of her upper arm. Or, worst of all, he could brush his fingers underneath her chin — and then cradle her lovely face in the hollow of his palm—</p>
  <p>He withdrew his hand before he could act on these dastardly ideations. He cursed himself for even having conceived the temptation. Taking advantage of her fragile, budding trust in him—</p>
  <p>It was then that Anya pressed her soft, warm lips to his jaw. </p>
  <p>A tendril of pure lightning coursed down Gleb’s spine. His heart stumbled. He directed a questioning glance at her. </p>
  <p>“That was my first kiss,” she announced, grinning impishly — even as a tantalizing blush spread across her face. “First kiss ever, I mean. Since you got the first hug, I figured you should have that, too.” </p>
  <p>He drew in a breath of cold air and tried to calm the racing of his pulse. </p>
  <p>“I’m— honored, Anya,” he managed. </p>
  <p>Her grin widened in mischievous delight. “Your face went all red, officer.” </p>
  <p>“I wonder why.” </p>
  <p>Perhaps it’d serve her right if he seized her by the shoulders and laid claim to those roguish lips of hers this minute.</p>
  <p>Anya’s belly chose to growl just then. In the near-absolute quiet, it made itself heard with startling clarity.</p>
  <p>“Ugh,” she groaned, and she finally disentangled herself from him. He, too, could have growled in frustration as she pulled away from one moment to the next, leaving the whole left side of his torso with a heightened sensitivity to the cold that made him shiver. </p>
  <p>Anya pulled out the bag of pirozhki from her pocket with a quick yank and rolled it open. “Okay, I’ve had it,” she muttered — at her own empty stomach, apparently. “You want some? Fine, you can have ‘em! Stuff yourself.” </p>
  <p>She plucked one bun out of the packet. “My gut says it’s lunchtime. I was gonna save these for — you know, later — but it doesn’t matter anymore, since” — she beamed brightly — “well, I’ve got a job now! You should have some too, Gleb — to celebrate. <i>Please</i>? I’ll just keep harping on about this until you try them.”</p>
  <p>He leaned forward, propped his elbows up on his knees. He supposed her logic might be correct. Now that she’d secured a new source of income, she was brashly confident that the resources she had at present were enough to last the week. </p>
  <p>He laughed in indulgent disapproval. </p>
  <p>“I’d advise against it, comrade,” he said. He’d easily shifted back into the ordinary flow of his encounters with her, and it was rather surprising. “You want to save some of those for tomorrow, at least.”</p>
  <p>But she had already slipped past his defenses — and she knew it. She held out the bag to him with a charming, triumphant smile. “Okay. But we’re sharing them anyway.” </p>
  <p>Shaking his head, Gleb removed his gloves and fished out one pirozhki from the bag. </p>
  <p>For some reason, it seemed as though he’d bought them for her a lifetime ago. </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Stolovaya Nº 42</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, comrades. :) Am late. Again! Haha. :'D Guess that's something we're all kinda used to by now XD </p><p>This is the longest chapter to date. Yay! Now here's a little glossary of Russian terms for you: </p><p>- Stolovaya: Public cafeterias that were run by the Soviet government. They were often plagued by issues like rats, ingredient shortages, and not-great cooking, but the ones in major cities like Leningrad and Moscow were fancier and better stocked. </p><p>- Apparatchik: Colloquial term for a full-time member of the communist government (i.e, the apparatus).</p><p>- Borscht: A delicious-looking sour soup that's popular in Russia and which, sadly, I'll probably never taste. :')</p><p>All right! On with the show~! Thank you, everyone! You're awesome! Enjoy! I love youuuuuu :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="chapter-wrapper"><hr/><p>Anya was almost afraid she’d wake up at any moment. </p><p>Sometimes, it just seemed like fate couldn’t make up its mind when it came to her. One day she was wandering the streets like a ghost: aimless and homeless and jobless — and just about any other ‘less’ anyone could think of. Trying to figure out how one could make an apple last for a whole, entire day. Expecting Plisetsky’s henchmen to jump out at her from behind every corner. Keeping an eye out for some abandoned warehouse she could sneak into, so as not to freeze to death in her sleep. </p><p>Then, the day after that — here she was! Having fun like a little girl, sitting here on this old, creaky wooden bench; in this quiet, lonely little park. Sharing a bag of spicy, delicious, very slightly oversalted, lukewarm pirozhki with Gleb. </p><p><i>‘With Gleb.’</i></p><p>Those two words bounced around over and over in her mind. Like her head had turned into some sort of echo chamber. </p><p>It was silly, but just saying his name in her mind made her mouth curve into an awkward smile around the meat bun she was munching on. It made her want to think it again. ‘<i>Gleb!</i>’ she parroted like a fool. It was ridiculous — just so completely stupid — and if he ever found out, she would die of embarrassment. But it was true.</p><p>She supposed she was still in the throes of that strange, sappy haziness that had come over her as he’d let her cling to him like a barnacle and plant her first kiss on his cheek. Or maybe it was just that some screws in her brain had sort of gotten a bit loose ever since that first hug. Whichever the how, the facts were the facts. All she could do was bear with herself and try not to be too grossed out at this mushy mood she was in as she waited for it to pass.</p><p>Suddenly, she had a sense that she could feel his eyes on her. She glanced up. He was observing her with a curious smile. </p><p>“You seem happy,” he said. </p><p>“Maybe I am.”</p><p>He was nibbling on his pirozhki with a lot more elegance and grace than she ever could. He held the bun away from his palm, holding on to it with just his fingertips. His other hand hovered below with a napkin at the ready, in case little bits of meat and onions happened to fall off. Meanwhile, Anya just grasped the thing the way normal humans did and licked her fingers. Frankly, watching him made her feel like a savage! So she laughed at him. </p><p>“You’re so delicate when you eat,” she said. “Dainty! Like a prince.”</p><p>Gleb winced at the word as if she’d cussed out loud. “Or an apparatchik. Getting grease stains on one’s uniform is a bothersome affair.”</p><p>A frosty breeze ghosted through the trees. It wafted softly over her face and her neck, blowing through her hair and giving her goosebumps. She shivered. </p><p>“Ah, you’re shaking — again,” Gleb said. He quickly finished off the last bit of his pirozhki; the bench groaned with a little creak as he stood up. “I’m terribly sorry, Anya; it seems I’ve had you all to myself quite long enough. Time for us to get you home.” </p><p><i>‘Home — what home?’</i> part of her wanted to say. By some fluke, she’d managed to find a boarded-up bookstore that nobody else happened to be using for shelter last night. Now she was wondering if she’d even be able to find it again. </p><p>Not that Gleb needed to know that. She didn’t want him to know. </p><p>“It’s okay, thank you,” she sighed. “I can get there myself.”</p><p>So she got to her feet, rueful that the moment was over. Gleb swiped a bit of snow off the tree that towered above them; he thoroughly rinsed his fingers with it, as if he’d gotten any grease on them to begin with. Then — and <i>only</i> then — did he put his gloves back on. </p><p>Next, he bent down to pick up his hat. He brushed a little grass and snow off it and handed it to her courteously. </p><p>Anya was puzzling over how it’d ended up on the ground to begin with. </p><p>“When did I drop that?” she asked as she put it on. “I never noticed!” </p><p>Gleb smiled. “The next time you launch yourself at me, be more mindful of it. Portable pillows like this are hard to replace.” </p><p>He reached out and straightened the hat on her head as he spoke. When he was happy with how it looked, he fixed it in place with a firm little tug. Then he carefully smoothed her hopelessly tangled hair under it. </p><p>His gentle scolding — and all his tidying her up — coerced a bashful giggle out of her.</p><p>She decided she wanted to try something she may or may not have practiced for him last night. </p><p>“Bedtime’s not all it’s good for,” she said. “I also use it to make myself look powerful and imposing like you. Watch <i>this</i>!”</p><p>And then, standing as straight as she could possibly manage, she slipped into her best imitation of a martial position — and she saluted him. The way she’d seen Bolshevik soldiers salute their captains when they went out on parades. </p><p>She’d thought maybe he’d like how the gesture and the hat made her look. And it was nice to imagine they were both on the same team — just for one wild, crazy minute. </p><p>Her hand flew up to her head a bit too fast, and she flinched as she bonked herself in the forehead. But, hopefully, it’d looked convincing enough! Or at least okay enough.</p><p>For a second, Gleb stood there slack-jawed in front of her. And then he burst into loud, boisterous, delighted peals of laughter. </p><p>“Oh, Anya!” he managed through all his guffawing. “Yes! <i>Very</i> imposing! Absolutely!” </p><p>He patted his chest a few times. Took a deep breath and tried to recover.</p><p>“Now,” he said, calming down. “Why don’t we try that again? We’ll get it right this time.”</p><p>“Wait, what?” She winced — she wasn’t looking forward to having her soldierly pose nitpicked. “You know I’m really not—”</p><p>“Humor me, Anya,” he pleaded. “I <i>need</i> you to know how to do this. I’ll walk you through it. Let me guide you.”</p><p>His grin was wide and transparent, like a young boy’s.</p><p>But it was that fizzing, eager spark in his eyes that defeated her. </p><p>Somehow, Gleb knew he’d just gotten his way. He sauntered in a circle around her until he came to stand behind her — a little to the side.</p><p>“A proper salute is how you show your zeal and readiness to serve,” he began. “Your strength of character. It’s an expression of respect and self-discipline, and pride in your unit. It is as vital to us as the air we breathe.” </p><p>With that preamble, he grasped her wrist. Anya twitched; suddenly her heart was thumping like a rabbit’s. </p><p>Gleb smiled in silent apology. He gave her a moment to get used to the feel of his leather-clad fingers on her skin. She swallowed. </p><p>“Okay,” she said. </p><p>He nodded. “Let’s give that a try, then. When you salute, your hand cuts briskly through the air to assert your authority. Or... your submission to authority, as the case may be.” He led her hand on a graceful arch from her hip to her head. “Your palm does <i>not</i> face outward, Anya — that is a British abomination. We are <i>Russians</i>! Our palms face down. Next, bring up your hand to your temple, <i>almost</i> touching, but not quite. Your arm forms a perfect angle at your shoulder — don’t let that elbow sag!” His other hand gave her slack elbow a disapproving nudge. “And keep your wrist straight. Stand up tall! Square your shoulders. Good.” </p><p>He leaned back a moment to appraise her critically. He seemed satisfied. </p><p>“And <i>this</i>,” he said, “is how you salute your nation correctly.”</p><p>Seeing how much this pleased him was a little distracting. She was trying hard to memorize this rigid, alien posture.</p><p>The self-conscious smile that wanted to etch itself on her face wasn’t making it easier for her to look warlike.</p><p>“I feel a little foolish,” she confessed. “Do I look more imposing now?”</p><p>“Fierce as a lioness.” He took a step back and admired his work. “Yes. Very good. At ease, soldier.”</p><p>Anya guessed that meant she could stand normally now. </p><p>He grinned. “Now — it’s time to put your learning to the test. I’ll give the command, and you’ll salute me again, all on your own. You have <i>one</i> chance to impress me, my little cadet! Are you ready?” </p><p>She couldn’t help but smirk back at the challenge. “Yes, Sir.” </p><p>“Then let’s see it!” Gleb snapped into position — standing perfectly straight, with his hands folded at his back. (And he really did look pretty powerful and fearsome in that pose.) “Comrade Anya! Present, arms!” </p><p>Anya saluted.</p><p>“Comrade Commissioner!” she barked out. “Ready, Sir!” </p><p>She hoped she’d remembered everything he’d taught her. She’d tried her darnedest to do it smartly, with the same vigor as him. But despite how fierce she looked, that just made him laugh again. </p><p>She couldn’t bring herself to be mad about it. She’d never seen him this happy before. </p><p>And, in the back of her mind, she was wondering how he’d managed to really get her sucked into this whole silly game. She sighed and decided she could stand like her normal self again.</p><p>Then Gleb’s hands were grasping her shoulders. “Excellent! That was <i>perfect</i>, Anya. I knew you were a Bolshevik at heart! Can’t I convince you to come work for me in the Cheka?” </p><p>She had a feeling he was only half-joking. She waved her hands at him apologetically. “Thank you, comrade. I think the stolovaya will do just fine.” </p><p>She quickly shrugged out of his grasp. She’d built up a little tolerance for being this close to him — but all this touching was pushing her limits. Any more of this and her heart would start doing the whacky things it did around him, and she would blush. And nobody wanted that. </p><p>Luckily, she then remembered the card he’d given her. She tried to distract herself by plucking it out of her pocket and studying it intently.</p><p>“I still can’t believe this is happening,” she said. And she meant it. “You really <i>are</i> the nicest person I’ll ever meet.” </p><p>“I’m always glad to do a friend a favor,” he said. (He sounded just a little disappointed.)</p><p>“Do you think Comrade Dominik would mind if I go talk to him today?” Anya asked. The thought took shape in her mind more and more clearly as she stared at the words inked on the paper. “I need to nail down that job right now.”</p><p>“But you already have, Anya,” Gleb said indulgently. “Take your time. Nothing will happen if you rest today—”</p><p>“Exactly.” She held up a finger emphatically. “<i>Nothing</i> will happen. Meaning... I won’t make any money ’cause I’ll be sitting around playing with my thumbs all day. But if I get to work right now, then I’ll get paid more— and <i>that</i> means” —her finger jabbed at his chest to really bring the message home— “next time it’ll be <i>me</i> bribing <i>you</i> with food. And I’ll take you out to somewhere nice — and I’ll buy all kinds of things for you. And you don’t get to pay me back for anything.” </p><p>Gleb folded his arms in amusement. “I can’t decide if that’s an invitation or a threat.”</p><p>“It’s neither,” she said, with fierce determination. “I’m just telling you how it’s going to go.”</p><p>“Ah.” A dimple formed in his cheek as he smiled. “I see. In that case, let’s get your swift-footed self to Dominik’s premises this very hour. We don’t have a minute to waste.” With a bow, he offered his arm to her. “So — shall we be on our way, then?”</p><p>Anya hesitated. Suddenly her pluck evaporated and she was withdrawing her hand to her own chest.</p><p>She was confused. Why was it so painfully charming every time he did this? </p><p>Simpering like a fool, she hooked her fingers around the crook of his arm.</p><p>And, being this near to him, she couldn’t help but notice that scent he gave off: sandalwood and citrus. For some reason, that smell — <i>Gleb’s</i> smell — had her struggling a bit to rein in an urge to squirm, and she dropped her gaze to the grass and snow at their feet. She saw his smartly polished boots and her own ragged, tattered ones. </p><p>He stood still for a moment next to her. She looked at him questioningly. He was regarding her silently with his pensive, earnest smile.</p><p>“What?” she asked. </p><p>“Nothing. You’re very beautiful, Anya,” he said simply. </p><p>“Uh—”</p><p>He’d never said that to her before.</p><p>She tried to think of some witty retort — but yet again, her words failed her. Her mind was blank. She hid her face under the brim of his hat, hoping he couldn’t see her cheeks going red. </p><p>Gleb was calm and quiet he led them back the way they’d come, back over their own footprints from before: her own puny, teeny ones — and the big, long, wide ones he left imprinted on the snow. For a minute, she thought she’d gotten lucky and he hadn’t seen her flounder. But, as they walked, it seemed like he was holding his elbow a little closer to himself. Gently pressing her hand to his side.</p><p>Her heart thundered as she tightened her grip on his arm. </p>
<hr/><p>When they left the park, the usual noise and babble of the Nevsky Prospekt seemed a lot louder than usual. People gossipped; ravens cawed; age-old cars rumbled and rattled by like they were going to fall apart at any minute. Hundreds of footsteps stampeded on the concrete all around them. The static-filled blaring of radios and gramophones spilled out of open doors and windows, and into the street — jazz tunes clashing with revolutionary anthems. From time to time, metallic voices would shout out slogans from the loudspeakers that were affixed to the street lights — <i>“A new wind blows!”</i> they droned on. <i>“Soon it will be spring!”</i> </p><p>Gleb led her down the avenue until he stopped in front of a salmon-colored storefront with twin wooden doors. The glass panes on them hinted at a throng of people milling about inside — but the bright afternoon sun glinted harshly off the crystal, and she couldn’t see all that much other than their own reflections as they stood in front of the entrance. </p><p>Above the doors, the store’s name was spelled out in enormous scarlet letters. It read, <i>Stolovaya Nº 42</i>.</p><p>Anya bit her lip as she felt her gut contracting.</p><p>“On second thought,” she said, “maybe I can come tomorrow.” </p><p>The Gleb reflected on the door grinned and glanced down at her, quirking up an amused eyebrow. </p><p>She turned to face him with a helpless smile. </p><p>“I’m feeling a little nervous,” she confessed. </p><p>That soft dimple appeared on his face again. “Oh, don’t be, Anya. Dominik’s harmless as a kitten — if he doesn’t like you, you’ll never know. He’ll smile all the same and simply judge you in silence.” </p><p>“Wow, I feel better now. Thank you, Officer.”</p><p>He smiled pleasantly. “Shall I tell him you’ll stop by next year, then? I’d make sure you’re well fed while you pluck up your courage.” </p><p>“Ugh.” That jibe had her striding up the three stone steps to the entrance. He was right. Getting this done and over with, even if Dominik finally decided that he hated her — was better than being the butt of Gleb’s terrible jokes. </p><p>He held the door open and ushered her in with a little smirk. They stepped into a small eatery that was completely packed with people. Modest wooden tables were laid out in such a tight grid that it was hard to walk without bumping into someone — or something. Customers stood bunched together shoulder to shoulder as they lined up at the back to get their meals — and then they carefully made their way over to their seats, balancing trays full of food on their hands. </p><p>Dozens of smells wafted up all around them. Fried meat and soup; beef, tomatoes, cheese, onions, garlic. The walls seemed to amplify the babble of half-shouted conversations and the clatter of cups and plates and cutlery. The air was thick with heat from the kitchen and the food and countless human bodies huddled so close together. </p><p>“Wow,” she breathed. </p><p>“So what do you think?” Gleb asked. </p><p>He’d shrugged out of his coat and draped it over his arm. Even without the extra bulk of it, he cut a pretty striking figure in his uniform and his insignia. And Anya was sure he knew it. </p><p>“It’s… kind of like I’m dreaming,” she told him honestly. This place was worlds apart from the gloomy halls and dingy corridors and littered sidewalks where she’d worked until now. “Are you sure this is the right place?” </p><p>He smiled, satisfied. Gleefully, he nodded forward. “This way, Anya.” </p><p>He grasped her hand and gently pulled her toward the counter at the back. Seeing his gloved fingers twined with hers made her face heat up in a way that probably had nothing to do with the steaming food or the crowd, and she meekly followed along after him, wishing she were invisible. </p><p>Even in this tiny, cramped space, people stepped aside to let them through. Gleb towed her over to the counter and past the broad doorway behind it — and into the kitchen. It was a great, vaulting room tiled all in white, lined with steel tables and shelves that were crammed with vegetables. In the sweltering heat, an army of women in aprons and grease-stained white dresses rushed about to and fro. They were shouting instructions to each other, stirring enormous pots, chopping mountains of carrots and beets and asparagus with frightening efficiency, and wheeling cartloads of food and pans and plates from here to there. </p><p>For one terrifying moment, Anya thought she wasn’t even equipped to actually make herself useful in this place. Just what would she even <i>do</i> here, other than getting in everyone’s way and looking like an idiot? </p><p>She was almost seized by an urge to turn tail and run. But, as if he’d heard her thoughts, Gleb tightened his grip around her fingers — and she kept her feet mechanically moving forward until she got her nerve back.</p><p>A short, slender, muscular man with platinum-blond hair stood with his back to them in the middle of the kitchen. He was busy barking out orders to everybody else: “Come on, crew — I need everyone to step it up!” he called. “We’re not getting paid for sitting on our butts. Marfa, Dunya — keep cranking out those potatoes — faster, faster! We’re barely keeping up. Paulina, for the last time — stop caressing those dishes like you want to kiss them! Just get them clean!”</p><p>As Gleb and Anya approached him, the workers glanced up from their frantic bustling and stared at Gleb with some unease. And, following their gazes, the man turned around to face them. </p><p>When his eyes fell on them, a wide grin made crinkles show around his ice-blue eyes. </p><p>“Well, I’ll be damned!” he said, spreading his arms wide. “Gleb!”</p><p>Standing at Anya’s side now, Gleb nodded politely. “Dominik.”</p><p>“Don’t ‘Dominik’ me — come here, man! Act like you’re happy to see me!”</p><p>As he said this, he rushed over to them in a few quick strides. The two men shook hands. Dominik’s open palm patted Gleb’s back with enough force to crush ribs. Gleb returned the gesture with martyr-like patience.</p><p>“I gotta tell ya, it’s good to see you here again so soon,” Dominik said, crossing his arms. “Didn’t think I’d talk to you for another hundred years! So what can I do for—”</p><p>Then his eyes zeroed in on Anya. </p><p>And they then flicked upward to Gleb’s hat, perched as it was atop her head. </p><p>“<i>Aaah</i>,” he said. He flashed her a smile like a cheshire cat’s. “So! <i>This</i> is the pretty doll I’ve been hearing so much about.”</p><p>“She is.” Gleb gestured to her with a gentlemanly sweep of his hand. “Dominik, this is Anya. Anya, this man is your new friend — Dominik Petrovich Gorev.”</p><p>Anya reached out for a handshake. (Trying to stay steady-yet-not-completely-stiff despite the roiling in her stomach.) “I — it’s a… I’m so honored to… make your acquaintance, Comrade… Dominik.” </p><p>If she could punch herself in the gut, she would. </p><p>The man laughed raucously as he grasped her hand. “<i>Comrade</i> Dominik? Look at you, Missy! Gleb’s already corrupted you with his protocols and his rules, has he?” He winked at her in playful complicity. “Just call me Dominik; we’re all equals here. Glad to meet you, too.”</p><p>Rather than letting go of her, he held on to Anya’s hand and glanced down at it with a sly, flirtatious smirk. Her street instincts warned her he was just about to kiss it — and she quickly snatched it back. </p><p>“Dominik has been a steadfast ally to the Cheka ever since we came into our own as an organization, Anya,” Gleb said. He’d tensed up almost imperceptibly — apparently, he’d noticed, too. “Time and again, he has proven his loyalty to our reborn Russia over the years. I can think of no one better fit to take care of you. I’d trust him with my own life.” </p><p>But as he spoke, he laid his hand on her shoulder — in a weighty, meaningful, almost territorial kind of way. As Dominik saw this, his eyes widened just a fraction, and he quickly took a casual step back. And only then did Gleb go of her.</p><p>“Did you come up with that speech on the spot?” Dominik asked nonchalantly. “Aww, shucks, Gleb. You’re gonna make me cry.”</p><p>In fact, Anya had found that introduction rather disturbing. Of course, Gleb’s friends couldn’t be anything other than Bolshevik zealots, and she wished she’d thought about that before saying yes to this. At least, hopefully this new one wasn’t as dangerous as Gleb himself actually was. Or, could be.</p><p>“That’s not all Gleb’s said about you,” she said. “Thank you for giving me this chance to work for you, comrade. I promise I won’t let you down.” She hesitated — and then decided to go for just the thing she needed. “Actually, I came because I was wondering if you’d let me start today. Right now.”</p><p>Dominik’s blond-white eyebrows arched up. </p><p>“Right now?” he asked with a skeptical snicker. “As in… <i>right now</i>, right now? You want to… put on an apron and roll up your sleeves right this minute.”</p><p>“Yes, please,” Anya said. “If you don’t mind my asking.”</p><p>Gleb laughed earnestly. “She’s industrious and diligent to a fault,” he said. “Light on her feet. Exactly as I’d told you.”</p><p>Warmth pooled up in her belly as she heard the pride in his voice. </p><p>“Yeah. <i>Now</i> I get what you meant.” Dominik’s smirk seemed satisfied. “Boy, I’m liking the fire in this one.” He clapped his hands together eagerly. “Well, that’s that! No more talking necessary — I’m sold. Welcome to the family, Anya! Now just let me get you a uniform, and then we’ll put those pretty, little hands of yours to good use.”</p><p>With that, he strode off — and then halted on his way toward the far end of the kitchen. </p><p>“Why don’t you stick around, comrade?” he called to Gleb. “Find yourself a table — order something. It’s on the house.” Then he turned toward the women who were stirring a massive frying pan off to the side. “Dunya and Marfa — I need you to scoot over here! Paulina, you too. No — but get somebody else to do your things, first! Come on, girls, wakie-wakie!” He pointed to Anya with a brisk swing of his arm. “You gals are Anya’s new best friends now. Show her around; teach her everything you know. And, Anya: if they don’t treat you like their brand new little sister” —he gave her another brazen wink— “you come straight to me.” </p><p>And with that, he spun around and was on his way again. </p><p>Gleb let out a low, annoyed grunt and crossed his arms. </p><p>Anya giggled as she watched the man go. “I think I like him.”</p><p>“Do you, now?” Gleb gave her a sidelong smile. “That’s good.”</p><p>“I don’t know what I was so scared about.” Now that her nerves were gone, she was feeling sunny. “He likes me! A little bit <i>too</i> much.”</p><p>Gleb’s lips pressed together in aggravation. “Dominik’s one glaring character flaw. He’s decent enough in male company — but he flirts with women like an old tomcat.” He heaved a sigh from the bottom of his soul. “How could I have forgotten? It was remiss of me not to warn you, Anya — <i>please</i> let me know if he gets too bothersome. I can always find you something else.”</p><p>“Is that a joke?” She grinned at him. “This place is amazing! I’m holding on to this job until I die.”</p><p>Then the three women Dominik had summoned came up to them. Beneath their white headscarves, Anya could see wisps of ginger, blond, and curly black hair.</p><p>Their eyes were apprehensively fixed on Gleb. None of them seemed to want to come too close. </p><p>Finally, the red-haired one took the lead. “Officer… Vaganov,” she said stiffly.</p><p>Gleb tilted his head curtly to them. “Ladies.”</p><p>The three of them just stood there anxiously. The redhead jabbed her blond companion in the rib and the other woman gasped sharply in pain. </p><p>“So — it’s… It’s pretty great that you, uh… stopped by?” the blonde stammered. (She topped that off with a high-pitched titter.) </p><p>“Yeah,” said the last one, from behind the others — possibly for protection. “It’s… great!”</p><p>Gleb responded with a brittle laugh. “Charming as ever. No doubt you’ll make… <i>interesting</i> role models for my friend here. You <i>have</i> been on your best behavior ever since you got here, I’m assuming?”</p><p>The women had a fit of overzealous nodding. “Oh, <i>yes</i>!” “<i>Definitely</i>!” “We’re <i>very</i> grateful!” “<i>And</i> loyal!” “Obedient, too!”</p><p>Anya fought hard to bite back a smile. It helped to remember she’d probably been as bad as them when she’d first met him.</p><p>“Good,” Gleb said pleasantly. “Here you have a chance to earn an honest living for yourselves. I suggest you don’t waste it.” </p><p>He paused a second, as if to stress the thing he was going to say next. There was a subtle, sharp edge to his smile — the friendliness of it was offset by that chilling glint in his eye. </p><p>“Now, I will make myself absolutely clear,” he went on. “You three have a long list of misdeeds to atone for in Siberia, and you’re awfully lucky I have simply chosen to look the other way. If it should come to my attention that you’ve been attempting to lead Anya down your crooked paths of old… Well, suffice to say I will not be pleased. Is that understood?”</p><p>“Yes, Sir!” “Thank you, Sir!” “We’re all so, <i>so</i> good now.” </p><p>They seemed more and more eager to get away from him every second. Finally the redhead turned to Anya. “So — honey — ready to get started?” </p><p>The blonde caught hold of Anya’s wrist and started tugging. “Oh, she’s ready, all right! Of <i>course</i> she is! Aren’t you, queenie?”</p><p>“I’ll just go and… get out the… things.” The dark-haired one took a tentative step back. </p><p>Anya found herself being literally dragged away from Gleb, one step at a time. She threw a baffled glance back at him, just in time to see him beaming at her in silent amusement. </p><p>She dug in her heels and yanked her hand free.</p><p>“<i>Yes</i>. I <i>am</i> ready.” She rubbed gingerly at her abused wrist; she bruised easily, and that was going to leave a splotch. “Thank you all. Why don’t you go ahead and — get the… <i>things</i>, ready? I’ll meet up with you in just a minute.”</p><p>They seemed incredibly relieved as the three of them scurried away. </p><p>Anya then returned to Gleb. “You shouldn’t scare people like that,” she chided him. “It really doesn’t help them like you.”</p><p>“Much better to be feared than disobeyed,” he said simply. “That’s a tenet of my profession. It holds especially true in <i>their</i> case.”</p><p>Anya snorted — at him and his Bolshevik police and their terror tactics. </p><p>And she waited for him to say something else. But then, he didn’t. </p><p>She supposed there was really nothing left for him to say. Everything he might’ve planned for today had probably already happened. Somehow, she felt like she’d spent three whole lifetimes with him on just this one day.</p><p>Maybe that was kind of the problem. She’d been around him way too long. And that was why now, pathetically, she didn’t want him to walk away just yet.</p><p>Although, obviously, she’d sooner die than tell him that.</p><p>She realized she’d been scowling down at the grubby tiling on the floor as she’d thought of all this. She glanced up at Gleb again — he was smiling patiently as he heroically put up with her brooding. In the heat from dozens of smoking pans and bubbling pots, sweat had begun to bead at his temple. </p><p>He gestured toward the work tables with a little nod. “Well, then. Off you go. Congratulations, Anya.”</p><p>“So… you’re not staying,” she said. “You know — Comrade Dominik said you could stay.”</p><p>“I’d prefer to get back to the office as soon as possible. I shudder to think what acts of incompetence my underlings have committed in my absence,” Gleb said. “Though, admittedly, I’d be much happier to hang around a while and cheer you on.”</p><p><i>‘Then you should do that,’</i> she wanted to say. But she had the sense to bite that back.</p><p>If he wasn’t staying, then the least he could do was tell her when he planned on coming to see her next. Or <i>if</i> he was going to visit at all. She suddenly had a horrible thought that he’d just come to drop her off here and now she’d never even see him again, now that she’d let him take care of all her problems. That idea made her anxious — suddenly, she was trying to come up with some excuse to keep him from leaving. There was a chance he would stay if she asked him all sweetly-like.</p><p>But again, she flushed all that madness out of her head before it was too late.</p><p>“Okay,” she said. “Thank you, again, Gleb. For… everything. Again. Have a really nice day.”</p><p>“You too, Anya.”</p><p>So that was that. Anya lowered her gaze and decided she’d be staying like that until he was gone.</p><p>But then, maybe something had tipped him off to the workings of her mind. He very gently tilted her head up by the chin. And he waited for her to raise her eyes to his.</p><p>“If I may, I would like to visit you sometime next week,” he said, his smile enigmatic as his hand drew back. “See how you’re feeling in your new surroundings.”</p><p>Anya breathed in deep, trying to get the helpless pattering of her heart under control. His words filtered in through a kind of haze in her mind, and she couldn’t completely hide the hope in her voice. “You mean you’ll actually come by to say hi?”</p><p>Gleb cocked his head like there was no other logical option. “Yes, of course. You’re a magnet for trouble, comrade. Someone has to check in on you from time to time.”</p><p>She wrinkled her nose at him. “I don’t need you babysitting me. But okay.”</p><p>In her charmed, weakened state, she wanted badly to steal one last hug from him — before he left for who knew how long. So she did. She threw her arms around him — right here, in this bustling, stuffy, overcrowded kitchen, not caring at all who might be watching.</p><p>She again caught him by surprise. But he recovered quicker than last time — and, with a lot less stiffness, he hugged her back. His large hands pressed her carefully to him, and Anya sighed into his chest without meaning to. Gleb chuckled and briefly stroked her hair in response. </p><p>He only let her cling to him a few moments, and then he stepped back. That was disappointing — he was just way too proper. He’d ended it too soon. </p><p>“I’ll see you in a few days, then, Anya,” he said. Casually, he reached out and straightened his hat on her head. “Enjoy your work. Stay safe. Be good.” </p><p>She grinned awkwardly, feeling shy in that hug’s afterglow. “Come back soon.”</p><p>His broad, warm smile made her heart stutter.</p><p>Then his eyes flicked up to someone behind her. He nodded politely to them in farewell — and, playfully dipping down the brim of her hat, he turned and sauntered out the door, into the dining hall.</p><p>Anya stared after him until someone conspicuously cleared his throat behind her.</p><p>She whirled around and found herself face-to-face with Dominik.</p><p>“<i>Well</i>. I only just met you, comrade, and I can already tell you’re full of surprises,” he said, passing her a bundle of fabric. “Here. I had to dig around a bit. You’re kinda sorta tinier than the average girl.” </p><p>Anya felt her face go scarlet as she took the thing. “Thank you, comrade.”</p><p>The outfit unfurled as she shook it out for both of them to inspect. It was a plain but nice-looking bone-white dress, reaching all the way to the wrists and ankles. It had a peculiar smell of starch and moss, like it’d been kept away in a dark room for some time. When the dress unrolled, the apron and headscarf that went with it tumbled to the ground. </p><p>“Oh, oops. Sorry.” She stooped to pick them up. “These are all very pretty.” </p><p>“You would think so,” Dominik snorted. “You never saw the gorgeous things the Tsar’s daughters used to parade around in. Don’t tell Gleb I said that.” </p><p>Anya was only half-hearing him as she straightened up. She swatted the dirt off her uniform with a careful flick of her nails. She giggled like a silly little girl as she pressed the outfit tightly to her chest. New clothes! When was the last time she’d gotten something new to wear? She couldn’t even remember. Maybe that had happened at some point before all of her memories had gone poof—</p><p>Her tittering died on her lips as she glanced at Dominik. The look on his face was halfway between puzzlement and pity. </p><p>“Well, at least you like ’em,” he grunted. “Glad you do.”</p><p>“So where do I change?” Anya hoped that didn’t sound overeager. </p><p>“The girls will show you,” he said impatiently. “Anya, I can’t tell if you’re doing it on purpose, but you can’t change the subject on me.” His eyes took on a glint of burning, almost savage curiosity. “I want to know <i>all</i> there is worth knowing about you and Gleb. You’re an old friend of his, by the looks of it?”</p><p>Anya frowned at him doubtfully. </p><p>She was starting to think hugging Gleb in public maybe hadn’t been such an incredible idea.</p><p>“No, Sir,” she said. “I met him just a little earlier this week. He’s just.... really helpful and nice to me. He’s a very kind man.”</p><p>She made a fuss of inspecting her uniform all over again. Maybe if he got the hint, he’d stop probing. And she could actually get to trying on her new dress. </p><p>“Aah.” Dominik paused a minute to take that in. Then — a knowing smirk. “Ah, yes. A kind man. Well, of course he is! Gleb gives away pieces of his uniform to random young women all the time! I bet he’ll be giving Marfa his medal from the Order of the Red Banner next.”</p><p>Instinctively, Anya’s hand drifted up to adjust the hat on her head. Dominik’s eyes stayed affixed to it meaningfully. </p><p>Anya hummed. Vaguely. She smiled and nodded. </p><p>And that was all he was getting. </p><p>“Ah, <i>fine</i>, all right,” he huffed. “You’re lucky you’ve got a ton of chores to tackle right now — but we do take breaks around here, little lady! At dinner time, we’ll sit you down in front of a nice bowl of hot, free borscht — and I’ll be armed with a million questions I want to fire at you. Sound like a fun plan, Anya?”</p><p>She chuckled as nicely and noncommittally as she could. “The question is if I have any choice in the matter, comrade.”</p><p>“Revolution isn’t about choice!” Dominik said. “That’s what your... <i>kind friend</i> would tell you, isn’t it? Might as well live by that spirit, why don’t we.”</p><p>She could think of a couple things to say in retort. But then again, she supposed she owed him. None of this would be happening if he hadn’t let her in. </p><p>“Okay,” she sighed. </p><p>“Wonderful.” He gave a self-satisfied snort. “Yeah — who says ‘no’ to sharing stories over fresh-made soup? Especially if it’s my soup. And <i>twice</i> as especially if it’s a handsome, alluring stranger like me you’re talking to.”</p><p>Anya rolled her eyes, smiling. “You’re very kind, Sir.”</p><p>“Dominik,” he insisted. “All right, I’ll just go and let you put that on.” He smiled in amusement at the bundle she was hugging to herself. “You actually get to keep two of those — just let me know if that one fits first. Then go find the girls and get them to teach you <i>everything</i> about this place. When you’re done, you’ll get busy tackling Sonya’s work — lucky you came in right after she walked out.” Then, a mischievous smirk. “And at six o’clock — you meet me in the lunchroom, Anya. Got all that?”</p><p>“Yes, Sir.” She pursed her lips and corrected herself. “Dominik.”</p><p>At that, he grinned and left her to her own devices. As if on cue, the three women flocked to her again. They looked at her as if they thought she wasn’t exactly human — in their faces, Anya could make out a blend of fear and respect, and a frightening eagerness to win her over, and an insatiable thirst for gossip. </p><p>Gleb <i>really</i> shouldn’t have let her hug him. </p></div>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Dreams and Scoundrels</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi! I'm alive! Gosh, words can't express how embarrassed I am for this midweek update. XD I do apologize if you thought I was like, completely ditching my update schedule or something! </p><p>It just turned out this one was unexpectedly rich in content. So, lengthy. Close to 30 pages. And I was brashly overconfident about this chapter. I thought it'd be done in like a week or so. Lol. </p><p>Well, I hope you like. :) Now I'm a little behind schedule for the next update, but I'm challenging myself to roll it out within the next 12 days anyway.</p><p>Lastly -- my beloved commenters: I'm inexcusably late responding to you as well! But you must know that hearing your thoughts on this story makes me insanely happy, and it's such a joy for me to write back to each of you. &lt;3 I've just had to delay responding for a bit because I needed to focus on getting the past couple updates published. I'll be belatedly getting back to you in the next few days!</p><p>All righty -- you guys rock! Have fun reading! :D And stay safe!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="chapter-wrapper"><hr/><p>9:00 PM. The shrill chiming of the clock outside pierced the quiet of the hallway, bouncing off the walls outside Gleb’s office — and the inner walls of his overstuffed, saturated cranium. The noise sent a shock coursing from one end of his brain to the other, and he groaned softly as he closed his eyes and pressed his hand to his face for comfort.</p><p>Ironically, he was the one who’d had the clock placed there — and precisely for this purpose. Efficient time-keeping was essential for him. He could never keep a clock <i>inside</i> his workspace — the quiet, monotonous, relentless ticking would drive him insane — but the chiming was one way to tell the passing of the hours. It helped him manage his workload as morning, evening, and night seemed to blur together into one infinite stretch of time during the progression of his day. It provided a sense of direction — a sense of beginning and end as he inspected reports and issued orders and wrote and read and made calls and paced within these walls. </p><p>It was only at times like this that he’d like nothing more than to have that clock removed — though he, of course, knew better than to personally throw it out the window. He was tired. He knew that. His feet ached from stalking endlessly up and down the halls — and, of course, patrolling — and the backrest of his chair seemed to press rather harshly against his back — even though by this point he’d tried sitting in just about every position conceivable. </p><p>Perhaps he simply needed a little more tea. </p><p>He poured himself another cup. </p><p>“Gleb?” a female voice called tentatively. He lifted his eyes and saw Fyodora standing at the entrance. </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>“So I turned in that report for Moscow, just like you asked and I… said all the things to the... <i>them</i>, and I did some stuff,” she said half-coherently. “I’m leaving now. I’m dead.” </p><p>He gave her an absent smile. “Rest well.”</p><p>“Do you need anything else before I go?” She leaned against the doorway — trying to ease some of her weight off those preposterous heels of hers. “You know — something I can do in five minutes? <i>Without</i> having to walk all the way across the building?”</p><p>Gleb pondered. “Yes.” He handed her the bowl of cold soup that had been sitting on his desk for the past two hours. “Take this back to the kitchen, please.” </p><p>She scowled at the sparse carrot cubes that were floating forlornly in the broth. “You didn’t even touch it.” </p><p>“You’re perceptive, comrade.” </p><p>She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Starve yourself. By the way — the guys from the night shift are asking to see you. You know, for briefing.”</p><p>Gleb nodded. “Tell them I’ll be there in a moment. Thank you, Fyodora.”</p><p>She saluted him — as best she could while balancing the soup in her other hand — and then her heels were clacking away down the hall. </p><p>He again glanced down at the dossier he’d been studying up until moments ago. Within its pages, a woman dressed in furs and insultingly opulent ballgowns sported the same sly smile on a dozen black-and-white photographs — and a bespectacled, bearded man hovered always close to her side. Countess Liliya Malevsky-Malevitch, and her unlikely paramour: Vladimir Popov. Dmitry’s accomplice. </p><p>At least, the investigation on Anastasia and her conmen was inching forward.</p><p>But this was, regrettably, as far as Gleb could go tonight. </p><p>With a sigh, he snapped the binder shut and got to his feet. He stretched. He paced around the room while sipping at his tea. </p><p>It wasn’t that he intended to make his second batch of subordinates wait — he was simply getting mentally prepared for his meetings with them. To the Cheka, daytime and nighttime simply marked a slight shift in the work that was to be done: from routine roundups and inspections to nocturnal raids and arrests and special investigations. And, naturally, he was expected to keep his finger on the pulse of everything. Therefore, he had a small army of trustworthy men (and women) running things on his behalf with a watchful eye as the night wore on. Each of them was currently waiting for his turn to speak to the Deputy Commissioner — and Gleb had to take a moment to build up a little clarity of mind before he could dispatch them.</p><p>So, for just a few minutes, he decided to do the things that afforded him the most intellectual and spiritual repose. He soaked in the silence and gazed at the snow falling on the deserted street outside. He drank tea. </p><p>And he happily indulged in the memory of Anya’s kiss. </p><p>Her first kiss. </p><p>Her heart-melting, candid, tantalizing, almost-but-not-quite first kiss. </p><p>He couldn’t help but chuckle. The thought of her brought a smile to his lips. It made his pacing stop. It made his chest swell with… emotions. And it calmed him. All at the same time — somehow. </p><p>He hoped her first day at the stolovaya had gone well. </p><p>He hoped Dominik hadn’t given her too much trouble. </p><p>He hoped he’d get a chance to see her soon. </p><p>And yet, wasn’t it true that absence makes the heart grow fonder? At this time, it seemed fairly safe to believe that Anya harbored feelings of her own toward him — reticent and reluctant though she might be. And, thus, if he were determined to claim her <i>true</i> first kiss for himself, someday — and then never allow those mischievous lips of hers to touch anyone else’s — which would be the more correct decision, tactically speaking? </p><p>Would it please her if he gave in to her impatience, paid her a brief visit just a few days from now? Or should he wait and delay instead, and make her wonder? </p><p>When her eyes fell on him again, would she be happy? </p><p>And then — the next time he saw her, which of the two Anyas would greet him? he wondered. Would it be the reserved, fiery-tempered one who kept her distance and still blushed despite herself when he touched her? Or would it be the warmer, hidden one whose exuberance made the world stop spinning when she hugged him?</p><p>Either way, she was so sweet one could spread her on bread. </p><p>And, yet…</p><p>And yet.</p><p>Suddenly, all thoughts of her ground to a halt; the other side of his own person picked this time to shoulder his way into Gleb’s awareness. The former General, now Deputy Commissioner Vaganov, glowered at him grimly from his own reflection on the window panes — shook his head and berated him. What in the name of Comrade Lenin was he doing? Hankering for a little girl’s affections like some love-struck adolescent. When Russia needed — and <i>demanded</i> — that he watch over Her with a dispassionate gaze and a clear head. And an undivided heart. </p><p><i>‘No compunction at the taking of life,’</i> he reminded himself. <i>‘No concern for the lives of others.’</i></p><p>How else could he live up to the purpose of his life here in Leningrad? Purging Russia of counter-revolutionary filth. It was a lofty and ambitious task — one at which he would not succeed by daydreaming about a little waif he fancied himself half in love with. </p><p><i>‘Be careful what a dream may bring,’</i> he reproached himself.</p><p>He realized with half his mind that he was pacing again. He brought his cup to his lips and was surprised to find it empty. He refilled it once more. </p><p>As he leaned against his desk for a moment, his fingers fiddled with the medals that were pinned proudly on his chest for all the world to see. One in particular seemed to weigh heavily against his heart — and that was the emblem of the Cheka: the hammer and the sickle. And the sword. </p><p>If it is to be of any use at all, a sword must be kept sharp. It must remain always in a state of pristine sterility — ready to cut down the enemy without a moment’s hesitation. By its very nature, a reliable blade must be rigid and cold. Untarnished. Free of rust. </p><p>But, then… hadn’t all the greatest heroes of the Revolution been married men? </p><p>Gleb pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning in frustration. Now was no time for him to wrangle with impossible dilemmas! He was busy — and wrestling with a monstrous migraine; he was in no condition whatsoever to debate with his inner Bolshevik about this. But — oh, these questions. These terrible questions that plagued and haunted and tormented him.</p><p>Must he step away from Anya? Shut her out of his world and his days and his thoughts while there was still time — tear up the tree from the ground while it was still a sapling? </p><p>Or… might it be that love for one’s spouse and love for the motherland could coexist harmoniously in a man’s heart? </p><p>His steps picked up speed as he clung to this last thought. Now he was dashing in circles around the room — from the desk to the bookshelf to the window to the cabinets and back again. At the very least, the notion was worth examining! Now that he’d confirmed that Anya hadn’t the slightest intention of dallying with counter-revolutionary affairs, then… Well — what if it was not only feasible and safe, but even logical and <i>necessary</i> that he follow in his father’s footsteps and eventually settle down with such an honest, hard-working Russian girl as she was? Of course, she was not perfect — but with a little steadfastness and patience, he could teach her to revere their nation just as much as he did — and she was fierce and strong and brave and clever — someone whose sheer strength of character could provide an excellent foundation for a family to be built upon. At this stage in his career, he was in a perfect position to provide for her — to care for her — and not only did Anya need someone to support and protect her — undeniably, she did — but more importantly still, Russia was in dire need of <i>families</i> — faithful families — young couples that may pass on the Bolshevik legacy and bear Her children— </p><p>Gleb stopped dead in his tracks. </p><p>Perhaps he was racing a tad too far ahead of himself.</p><p>A breathless laugh rattled out of him. He slumped back against the wall, dazed, grinning at himself like a fool. This was exactly the first time that the notion of ever getting married had entered his mind. It was an absolutely wild, capricious thought — utter madness, but not completely absurd. Of course, Anya was a million worlds away from even entertaining the idea — and perhaps he should be as well — but it certainly helped him see how his growing obsession for her could be reconciled to his zeal for the nation. In a flash, he could see love and duty — woman and motherland — hand in hand! For the very first time, it truly seemed like he could court the one in earnest without betraying the other. </p><p>The thought was pregnant with possibility, wasn’t it?</p><p>Outside, the clock screeched and startled him again — 9:15. Pain shot like lightning inside his skull — and he let go of his cup in a rather stupid reflex to cradle his head in his hands.</p><p>Then there was the crash of porcelain smashing to bits on the floor. And the last of this fine batch of tea — wasted.</p><p>Gleb sighed.</p><p>Or — he released a sound that was a partly a sigh, a moan, and an insult directed at himself.</p><p>He instantly forgot which insult that’d been.</p><p>His memory was never at its sharpest by this time.</p><p>With enormous hesitation, he swallowed his embarrassment and set off in search of someone to clean up the mess for him. He had better be quick about it. A regiment of his best agents were waiting for their briefing sessions — and, as was often the case, Anya was wreaking havoc with his productivity at work. He was grossly, terribly, inexcusably late.</p>
<hr/><p>The last customers of the night weren’t all that interested in leaving. They lingered in little bunches here and there, huddled together and chatting over tea. Then, now and then, a new group of ravenous late-night workers would come in, heading straight for the counter, raucously chatting and laughing and heaping mountains of meat and potatoes on their plates. </p><p>As it turned out, somebody had to pointedly make a fuss of closing up shop every night — sweeping the floor and tossing cutlery in drawers and wiping the tables, setting out to make people as uncomfortable as possible. This was one of the things Anya was supposed to do now. She was good at it. She’d been chased out of places and turned away from doorsteps thousands of times — so now she found some kind of dark enjoyment in shooing people away and kicking them out. </p><p>Besides, now she had a broom in her hands again. That felt good, too. </p><p>Carrying a broom with her at all times had been the only part of her old job that she’d missed. Now that she was armed with one once more, she could do incredible things with it. She could defend herself. Kick up dust at people who ignored her. Snipe debris at anyone who dared to eye her the wrong way from across the room. It made her feel secure. </p><p>Whenever someone walked in, an icy gust of air would sweep in and suck out a little more of the heat inside the eatery. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit to herself that she looked up every time, feeling just a little bit hopeful. She kept thinking that every broad-shouldered man in a long coat could be Gleb — that he’d come inside, shuddering from the cold, and his honey-colored eyes would scan the room looking for her — and his face would light up with his transparent, childlike smile when he saw her in her new uniform for the first time. </p><p>But, obviously, that never happened. Obviously. Of <i>course</i> he wouldn’t be thoughtful enough to stop by just for <i>one minute</i> and ask her how things had gone at the end of the day. He’d said he’d come next week — vaguely. Not even bothering to announce which day that’d be. </p><p>She should’ve told him that he could always just never come and forget about her if he wanted. It wasn’t like she cared that much either way. </p><p>So she gave up on him for the time being. Being mad at Gleb made it easier and faster to finish getting rid of people. When she was done, she made her way over to the deserted lunchroom and flopped down at one of the long tables, resting her head on the tabletop and using her hands as cushions. She was going to drop dead at any second. </p><p>Almost everybody else had left by now. Her three mentors — Marfa, Dunya, and Paulina — had dashed off the moment Dominik had rung the bell and announced that the shift was over. Just Anya and a few others had chosen to soldier on and properly wrap things up before they could call it a night. </p><p>She closed her eyes with an exhausted sigh. The air in the lunchroom was still warm — it smelled of garlic, burnt oil, and stale sweat. The tablecloth was soft beneath her palms and she felt tempted to fall asleep on it.</p><p>Maybe she should’ve been a little bit not-so-eager to impress her new boss today. Every inch of her was in pain from all the running around and chopping and frying and washing things all day. </p><p>And come to think of it, where was she going to sleep tonight? </p><p>Suddenly, a warm hand came to rest on her hair. She lifted her head to see Dominik grinning playfully at her. </p><p>“Dead tired, Anyurchik?” he asked. </p><p>That was one of the thousands of nicknames he’d come up with for her today. He was extremely creative, it turned out, when it came to certain things — like making things taste better and thinking of new names to call her. </p><p>She couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed with him for it. Some of the sillier ones made her smile.</p><p>“Not really,” she sighed. “I could keep on boiling things all night.”</p><p>“That’s bad,” he laughed. “If you’re not totally tuckered out by now, you’re not doing it right.”</p><p>He plopped down across from her with a sigh of his own. “What an evening, eh? That was a crazy wild ride for a first day! And tomorrow it’s gonna get busier — poor you. Just remember, Nyenka: it gets worse before it gets better. Things do quiet down an itty bit for us on weekdays. That’s when we all get the chance to unwind and reclaim our sanity — just hold on to that thought when you start feeling like you’re not gonna make it. You’re gonna be okay.” </p><p>She wasn’t sure if that was meant to cheer her up. She let her head plop back down on her hands. He chuckled and patted her hair in a gesture of comfort. </p><p>A few hours back, at dinnertime, she’d patiently suffered through tens of thousands of his probing questions. He’d sat her down at a tiny, two-person table at the corner of the room with that bowl of borscht he’d promised, and he’d wasted no time getting down to business. He wanted to know everything — when and how had she met Gleb? Where had that happened, what had he said? No — what had he said <i>exactly</i>, word for word? And what had happened then? He’d sat listening to her story with rapt attention, eager and wide-eyed like a child, digging into all the details. </p><p>So maybe it was <i>his</i> fault she was this tired. His fault and Gleb’s. She’d never, ever talked this much in a single day. (At least, not that she could remember.)</p><p>“All right, now, Anyushka,” Dominik said, giving her head one last pat. “I know you’re only half-awake right now — but sit up and listen. There’s a few things we gotta talk about before I let you go.”</p><p>Wearily, she obeyed. </p><p>“First,” he began. “Thanks for staying all the way to the end today. Seeing things through. I do notice that — you know, hard work doesn’t go unrewarded with me. You keep up that spirit and you’ll be happy here.” </p><p>Anya smiled, feeling pleased with herself. </p><p>“Second. There’s actually two shifts you can choose from,” he continued. “Morning and afternoon. Pick one, Nyechka. Which sounds more fun?”</p><p>She squinted at him pensively, trying to focus. </p><p>“Um… Well…” She suddenly realized this question was important. “It should be the one where Gleb stops by more often, I guess? I mean, maybe — you know… Just so he can find me if…” She shrugged, but could feel her face heating up. “In case he wants to see me — for whatever reason.” Then one doubt nagged at her. “He… <i>does</i> visit from time to time, right?”</p><p>Dominik grinned. “Nope! All these years and not a peep from him! And here I receive him like a tender mother every time he wants something. Ungrateful bastard.”</p><p>Her eyes dropped to the murky flower pattern on the tablecloth. </p><p>He chuckled at her again. “Aww — don’t be sad, Nyetochka! It’s all right — <i>you</i> are a totally different thing. Now that you’re here, he’s gonna start popping in awfully often. So — then we should slot you in on the afternoons, from one to nine. That way he can swing by when he’s done with work, and he can come chat with you. Assuming he’s not dog-tired by then.”</p><p>“Okay.” Maybe she liked the prospect of that.</p><p>She noticed she’d propped up the broom against the table — instead of hooking it up on its pegboard as she was supposed to. Again, it was that old habit — keeping the thing close to her all the time. Now she’d have to put it back where it belonged — and go out and try to find that abandoned bookstore again, without a weapon she could count on in case some lecherous drunk took an interest in her along the way. Thinking about that made her stomach clench. </p><p>“Um… Can I ask you one more thing, comrade?” she asked. </p><p>“Shoot.”</p><p>“Is it…” Biting her lip, she grasped the broom hopefully. “Is it okay if I keep this?”</p><p>He stared at her quizzically. Anya blushed. What an awkward thing to ask. </p><p>It was an unsettling novelty, too — asking for things. Before she’d met him and Gleb, she’d just take whatever she needed and run off into the night — because no one ever gave stuff away to grungy tramps like her. But things were different now, apparently. And Dominik wasn’t someone she wanted to steal things from. </p><p>“Sure,” he said finally. “Take it home. It’s all yours.”</p><p>She beamed at him in wordless thanks. </p><p>But his pale blue eyes studied her as she happily held the broom closer to herself. Maybe she’d relaxed too soon. </p><p>“You… <i>do</i> have a safe place to sleep tonight,” he said, “don’t you, Anya?”</p><p>She had to quickly come up with something to say. She didn’t want to burden him any more than she already had. It didn’t feel right.</p><p>“I do,” she said. (It was true, in a way.) “It’s just — kind of far away, and — well—” She shook the broom in the air for emphasis. “It’s nice to have something I can use to… fend off the street dogs if they come sniffing.”</p><p>He grunted in acknowledgment: “Hmm. I’m guessing you mean <i>human</i> street dogs, eh? In that case, it’s definitely a gun you want instead. I can give you one, if that’ll make things easier for you.” </p><p>Anya shook her head emphatically. She grimaced at the idea of holding a thing like that in her hands. “Thank you, comrade. I think I’m fine with just the broom.”</p>
<hr/><p>On second thought, maybe she should’ve accepted the gun. </p><p>But — <i>‘What would I even do with a gun?’</i> she questioned herself, as she wandered down a nameless, empty street. She honestly couldn’t picture herself ever raising a pistol at somebody. The fact that you could use those things to <i>kill</i> a person was just… too much. But then on the other hand, guns probably were nice things to have. If you had one, bad people stayed away from you. That was a good thing. </p><p>Especially at times like this. When she was ambling about alone in the dark.</p><p>Still — one big problem was that she couldn’t stand the sound of gunfire. Hearing anything even <i>remotely</i> like it made her cringe. </p><p>Sometimes, she saw men with guns in her nightmares.</p><p>And she’d been walking for a good half hour now. She stopped at a corner and looked up from the half-frozen slush on the sidewalk. She glanced around. </p><p>In all directions, flurries of snow swirled thickly in the dim glow from the streetlights. It was hard to see clearly more than a few steps ahead. In the distance, the city’s skyline was completely hidden behind a dark curtain of fog.</p><p>She wasn’t even someplace that looked familiar. </p><p>If only she could just go back to her bridge. </p><p>She was tired. She longed to just stop and sit down against a wall — doze off for a little bit beneath a store’s awning. But she’d seen people fall for that trap before — seen them frozen like human ice cubes in the cold light of morning. She couldn’t end up like that; she had to keep walking. So on and on she walked. </p><p>With a sigh, she adjusted Gleb’s hat on her head. It gave her strength, just because it was Gleb’s — or had been Gleb’s; it was like taking a little piece of him wherever she went. She remembered how much he’d badgered her to let him help her, and she was starting to regret that she’d never told him how embarrassingly homeless she was. She could’ve said something. <i>Should’ve</i> said something. If only fate would be so kind as to let her run into him now, just like she had yesterday. Then, she’d—</p><p>She saw something moving out of the corner of her eye. </p><p>Anya froze; her eyes strained to pierce through the dimness. And she saw it — right there. The dark shape of a man lurking by an alleyway.</p><p>Two men. </p><p>Three. </p><p>She took a step back; all of a sudden, her heart was beating fast. Then the men stepped out into the weakened, tenuous light. Even through the dancing snow, she recognized them. </p><p>“Hey there, skank,” said their leader. The largest one in the middle.</p><p>“We’ve been looking all over for you,” said another one.</p><p>“We missed you,” sneered the third. </p><p>“Please leave me alone,” Anya hissed. She was an idiot — the most moronic thing one could do was talk to people who wanted to murder you. She had to run. But then again, what for? They were so much faster. And they were so near. </p><p>“Comrade Plisetsky will be glad to see you,” the men said. </p><p>“Or what’s left of you.”</p><p>“Said we could have a little fun with you, first.”</p><p>“Since you were so mean to him and all.”</p><p>Then she knew she was going to die fighting. Her hands were shaking; she clenched her fingers around her broom. She pressed Gleb’s hat tightly to her head — for strength and luck.</p><p>“Kill me,” she taunted them. </p><p>The leader smirked and began advancing on her. She stood her ground — and then she decided she’d be drawing first blood. When the man was close enough, she stabbed his face with the butt of her broom, moving a lot faster than he’d expected. Blood sprayed out from his nose; he grunted like an animal and lurched back. That same second, she rammed her broom into his groin and planted her foot squarely in his stomach, knocking him down onto the concrete. </p><p>This was her one chance to flee. She spun around — and realized too late that one of the men had snuck behind her while she’d been dealing with his fallen comrade. His fist collided with the side of her head. For that one, vital second, the world stopped making sense and blackness burst across her vision.</p><p>Then they’d grabbed a fistful of her hair. One of them seized her in a chokehold from behind. Another punched her hard in the stomach; her hands weakened — and then they’d wrenched the broom out of her grasp. </p><p>The ape she’d downed was glaring into her eyes with utter hatred. He slapped her viciously and her head was throbbing. </p><p>She spat at him. </p><p>“You’ll pay for that,” he muttered. </p><p>“Well fought, though,” the one behind him said. “It was fun.”</p><p>The one holding her laughed maliciously. “Now it’s time to die.”</p><p>Then the roar of a gunshot boomed across the street. </p><p>Anya screamed. </p><p>She heard a wail of pure agony. Had that voice been hers, or someone else’s? Her eyes were shut tight — and suddenly Plisetsky’s gorillas were gone — she was seeing fire, smoke, chaos. Men with guns. There were three young girls huddled close to her — and a boy — their voices were rising next to hers in screams of terror—</p><p>Then she knew. It was that nightmare again. Her old night terrors, coming back to haunt her when she needed them least. She shoved her demons back into the void of her memory, forced the phantoms to vanish. Now was no time for nightmares. </p><p>She’d always thought getting shot would be a pretty painful thing. She waited for the pain to come, but it never did. Confused, she gazed at the faces of her attackers. They were looking away at something — or someone — behind them. </p><p>Anya tried to follow their stares, squinting through the snowfall. A little farther down the sidewalk, she saw two more men sauntering forward from the shadows. The one on the left was young, slender, and tall; he was armed with a crowbar. The other one was older — short, a bit stocky, bearded — he wore glasses. And he was aiming a smoking pistol at the guy holding her. </p><p>“Good evening, comrades,” said this older man — quite politely. “How do you do?” </p><p>“I see you found our friend,” called the younger one, nodding jovially toward Anya. “Our little sister! <i>So</i> sweet of you, boys, really. We were worried sick about her.”</p><p>With a winsome smile, his elder cocked the gun again. “Now, if you’d kindly hand her over.”</p><p>The young man was lightly thumping his palm with the crowbar. “Nobody here has to get hurt.” </p><p>A tense silence. Plisetsky’s pigs exchanged uncertain looks. Before they could just hoist her up and make off with her, Anya swung her fist backwards, into her captor’s crotch. As he gasped in pain, she drove her elbow into his gut, and then punched him in the chin, hopefully breaking his jaw. With that, she was free — and she darted over to her unlikely allies, skidding to a halt next to them.</p><p>She’d think of how to get away from this pair later. For now, they were her foes’ foes. That was all that mattered. </p><p>“Took you long enough,” she grunted at her new friends. Playing along with the farce. Maybe she could convincingly sound like she had allies.</p><p>Crowbar Boy smirked at her with a glint of amusement in his eye. </p><p>The leader of Plisetsky’s men spat at the ground. His fist came up to wipe the blood off his nose. “Fuck off,” he muttered. </p><p>“It’s not over,” growled the one whose teeth she’d cracked. </p><p>The third one, with a lewd, disgusting glance, blew a kiss at her. And then all three of them had turned and vanished back into the dark. </p><p>And, just like that, it was over. She’d made it. She’d survived. </p><p>The gunslinger gentleman continued to aim at the thugs’ retreating backs — steadily, patiently — until they were gone. His comrade, too, stood alert — and then his taut muscles finally relaxed, when he’d decided things were safe. </p><p>The older guy aimed his pistol at the ground and fired again. </p><p>The shot startled both his friend and Anya. A rush of panic tore a terrified shriek from her throat and she dropped to her knees on the slush — her hands flew to her head in a lame attempt at self-protection. The young man let out a yell and flinched.</p><p>“Sheesh!” he cried out. “What was <i>that</i> for, Vlad? They’re gone!”</p><p>“<i>That</i> was a warning shot, Dmitry,” said the gentleman — Vlad. “We don’t want them tailing us to the palace.”</p><p>Anya was on the ground, breathing fast and hard, quaking — she was sweating profusely despite the swirling frost in the air. She was thinking maybe she’d been too quick to call this a victory—</p><p>Then, the familiar name made her heart jump in her chest. </p><p>“Dmitry?” she murmured. Shakily, she tried to clamber back up to her feet. Vlad rushed to help her, gently grasping her elbow to steady her. </p><p>She didn’t have the presence of mind to thank him. Her eyes were fixed on his younger partner. “You — <i>you’re</i> Dmitry?” she said, stunned. “Dmitry, the conman?”</p><p>He didn’t answer. He was again thumping his palm with his weapon, eying her doubtfully. </p><p>“Hah!” Vlad chuckled at him. “Did you hear that? Your reputation precedes you!” </p><p>Anya’s breath wheezed out of her like someone had punched her in the belly. </p><p>“So it’s you,” she said breathlessly. “It <i>is</i> you, isn’t it? I...” Her jaw joggled up and down, but it was hard to find the words. “I can’t believe I <i>finally</i> found you!”</p><p>“Looks to me like <i>I</i> found <i>you</i>,” Dmitry said finally. “And just in time, too. That was a close call, comrade.” He rested his crowbar against his shoulder, looking quite satisfied with himself. “So — what, you’re a fan?” </p><p>“I—” His arrogance cut through the giddy fog in her brain. She remembered all the things Gleb had said about him. “<i>No,</i>” she informed him. “You are the worst of the worst. <i>Worse</i> than that! You’re a thief and a liar. And a scoundrel.”</p><p>The brash smirk on Dmitry’s face went sour. </p><p>Vlad was chortling like he’d never had this much fun in his life. “Like I <i>said</i>—!” he managed through his laughter.</p><p>“Shut up,” Dmitry sniped at him. Then he turned on Anya. “And <i>you’re</i> welcome, little girl. I should’ve known — that’s what I get for saving your life.” He gestured toward himself in mock politeness. “Yeah. <i>I’m</i> Dmitry. So, congrats; now you’ve met me. No — that’s all right — don’t trip over yourself trying to thank me. Don’t even mention it.” </p><p>With that, he swept past her and strode off down the sidewalk. Vlad hung back a moment, gave her a genteel farewell nod, and followed him. </p><p>Then there she was, alone again in the snowfall. Unexpectedly alive and well. And just about to miss the <i>one</i> chance she had of ever getting out of Petersburg. </p><p>Anya could’ve slapped herself. (If she weren’t still aching from the goons’ blows.)</p><p>“<i>Wait!</i>” she yelled, dashing off after the two men. </p><p>But then she had to dash back. Her hands groped wildly in the dim, murky light for her broom, and Gleb’s hat. <i>Then</i> she raced after them again. </p><p>She caught up to the conmen and planted herself in front of Dmitry, panting for breath. </p><p>“You — you’re right,” she said in gasps, as he raised a brow and put a hand on his hip. “You’re right! I… I take that back. I’m sorry. You’re actually not so bad. Thank you so much for — what you did for me, comrade. Thank you.”</p><p>“You got it,” he said dismissively. He stepped around her and kept on walking. “Now beat it, girl. I’m busy.” </p><p>Anya’s jaw went slack. “But—”</p><p>“It’s <i>way</i> too late for you to be outdoors, young lady,” Vlad admonished her warmly — as he, too, sauntered away. “Go home, and take care of yourself.”</p><p>“I <i>have</i> no home!” she cried, exasperated. With dogged determination, she marched along after them, trying to keep up with their longer strides. “I walked <i>all the way</i> here from Kivuya — looking for you, Dmitry! Because I know you’re the <i>only</i> person who can help me! <i>Please</i>!”</p><p>“Kivuya, huh?” the conman said, bored. “That’s gonna be a long walk back. Tough luck, kid, but that’s life. Better get going now, before it gets colder.”</p><p>And he didn’t once look back. </p><p>His words hit her like a snowball to the face. She stopped dead in her tracks. For one painful minute, she realized she’d been spending too much time around Gleb and Dominik; all their kindness and pampering had softened her heart. Now, this man’s callousness was making tears prick at her eyes. Fleetingly, all her dreams of Paris seemed to wobble like a house of cards in front of her. </p><p>She was not going to give up. She’d come too far for that. </p><p>The time had come for desperate measures. Fueled by her frustration, she charged at Dmitry from behind and tackled him. Pouncing on his back, she collapsed his knees with hers and brought him down with her on the sidewalk. </p><p>“What—” Dmitry yelped, caught off guard. But, dizzyingly fast, he’d flipped them around — and then Anya was the one being pinned down on the concrete. Old and fresh snow seeped into her coat and her blouse and her skirt — and she gasped — and his knees were pressing down heavily on her wrists. It hurt.</p><p>“Why, you <i>little</i>—!” he hissed. “Are you <i>insane</i>?”</p><p>His dark brown eyes bored angrily into hers. Anya blinked. </p><p>She’d just assaulted a wanted criminal who did slink about with a deadly blunt weapon in the dead of night. And now she couldn’t move.</p><p>Maybe she should’ve thought this through. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” she tried meekly. “You wouldn’t listen! I had no choice. Please, comrade — hear me out for <i>one</i> minute. If you only just <i>listen</i> to me — then I promise I’ll go away! I promise! Please.”</p><p>Dmitry let out a part-sigh, part-growl. He glared at her in silence a moment. Thinking.</p><p>Anya hoped that was a good sign. She wriggled uncomfortably as snowflakes landed on her badly bruised face. She shivered.</p><p>“You might want to get off her now,” Vlad suggested. He nudged his partner in crime insistently with his foot. </p><p>Dmitry gave an offhand grunt of acknowledgment. Anya was relieved to feel his weight rolling off of her.</p><p>“Thank you,” she mumbled as the man in spectacles crouched down and helped her to her feet. Unlike his friend, who truly <i>was</i> a blackguard after all, Vlad was kind. She realized she’d never talked to him directly until now, and felt ashamed at her lack of manners.</p><p>“Thank you, comrade,” she repeated, smiling bashfully. “Vlad.” </p><p>She tried to brush some of the snow and dirt off her clothes, pointlessly. Now the wind felt harshly, cruelly, overwhelmingly cold against her back, as if she weren’t wearing anything at all. She shivered again. </p><p>For that one second, she felt so exhausted she could die.</p><p>“Oh, you poor thing,” Vlad said. His tone was full of (hopefully honest) sympathy. “Look at you. You’ve had an awfully rough night, haven’t you? Hold on — let’s make that just a little more bearable.”</p><p>And, with a hero’s mettle, he took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. Now <i>he</i> was the one shivering. Anya’s face warmed up with embarrassment. </p><p>“No— please!” she protested. “You don’t have to do that! I can—” </p><p>“You keep that on,” the man insisted, gently pinning her arms to her sides — she was trying to give him his coat back. “We’re not that far away from home, anyway. Dmitry, let’s go.” He laid a hand on her shoulder and began to lead her forward. “This darling child needs someplace warm to spend the night.”</p><p>“<i>What</i>?” Dmitry trotted along after them, indignant. “But she’s <i>crazy</i>! And you saw the kind of people she’s in trouble with! Vlad, come on — just leave her alone! She’ll be fine. I can already tell she’s nothing but trouble.”</p><p>Vlad heaved an irritated sigh. “Comrade—”</p><p>“Wait!” Anya gasped suddenly, and the two men gave a start. Shrugging out of Vlad’s coat, she ran back and knelt on the snow — she needed to retrieve her things, again! Her broom. Her hat.</p><p>This time, she glanced around and squinted and fumbled in the slush a lot longer than she’d meant to. More than any fickle conman would be willing to wait. It made her anxious — she knew she was <i>really</i> pushing her luck — but she couldn’t just leave her things behind. They were gifts from her Bolsheviks. Useful, vital, important things. Precious things. </p><p>Then she was finally back up on her feet. Grasping Dominik’s broom triumphantly, and putting Gleb’s hat firmly back on her head, where it belonged. She sighed in relief and glanced back toward the conmen, half-expecting to find out they were gone. </p><p>To her surprise, they were still there, staring at her. On Vlad’s face, there was something akin to compassion. Dmitry looked annoyed.</p><p>“Told you,” he muttered. “Crazy.”</p><p>But Vlad shook his head. “Don’t be too quick about this one,” he said quietly. </p><p>And he gave his accomplice a sidelong look that Anya couldn’t decipher.</p><p>Dmitry definitely knew what it’d meant. His eyes narrowed. “What — <i>her</i>?” he said in a harsh whisper. He sent a blistering glance at Anya — and then back at Vlad. “Have you gone crazy too?”</p><p>Vlad was no longer listening. He was reaching out to Anya with a grand, courteous bow. “Come now, dear,” he cooed.</p><p>She smiled. That’d reminded her a little of Gleb’s gestures of chivalry. Only Gleb was more graceful and subtle, and… genuine. </p><p>Vlad blithely ignored Dmitry as the younger conman huffed and thumped his crowbar impatiently against his shoulder. His voice was sweet in a way that made her think of cheap syrup as he wrapped her up in his coat once more. “Oh, I’m sure you must be freezing!” he went on. “Let’s get you somewhere safe, shall we? Now, let us properly introduce ourselves. I am your humble servant, Vladimir Popov. And <i>that</i> over there is your kind, new friend, Dmitry. Tell me, darling — what’s your name?”</p></div>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Grand Duchess and Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi. :) </p><p>Darn it, lol, this chapter. Getting it done took a whole lot longer than any of us expected! But, here it is. </p><p>I miss Gleb. I'm so glad I'll be writing his point of view again soon, now that I'm done introducing this major Anya 'crisis point'. </p><p>Oh -- and, guys, I'm blown away at the incredibly warm response I've received from everyone! Thank you all for your kudos, comments, and views! &lt;3 I write for you, and making you happy makes me happy. :D</p><p>All righty! Stay safe! Go grab some coffee. Enjoy the show. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <p>“And <i>that</i>, my dear Anya,” Vlad concluded, “was how I decided to join forces with my comrade, Dmitry.” </p>
  <p>As luck would have it, Anya had somehow managed to get the conmen to bring her into their hideout — or, their home, as Vlad had called it: the old, abandoned Yusupov Palace. Now, here she was, tucking her hands under her elbows in an effort to keep warm in the chilly palace theater. Trying in vain to sit comfortably on a rusty iron stool Dmitry had plonked down on the stage for her at Vlad’s insistence. </p>
  <p>At some point in his story, Vlad had somehow waltzed over to the center of the stage. He finished his tale with a grand flourish, spreading his arms spectacularly. In the orange glow from the lanterns Dmitry had placed on stools at either end of the stage, he cast a great, dramatic shadow on the moth-eaten velvet curtains behind him. </p>
  <p>She wasn’t sure he deserved a round of applause. He had made her sit through a densely-detailed, rambling tale about how Dmitry had supposedly defeated an entire squad of Bolshevik riflemen — just to snatch him out of death’s jaws on the day the two conmen had decided to become partners. </p>
  <p>Probably about a third of it was actually true. </p>
  <p>“Okay. So…” She grinned at him. “I’m trying to get this straight. So — he killed the Bolsheviks.”</p>
  <p>Vlad nodded solemnly. “Every last one of them.” </p>
  <p>“<i>All</i> by himself?”</p>
  <p>“Well — no, not exactly. Dmitry can take out an army with some luck and a baseball bat, but he’s not invincible,” Vlad said. “I’ll have you know — despite my… <i>genteel</i> and <i>charming</i> looks, I’m in fact a very good shot, my dear.” His hand swept up in the gesture of taking aim at someone and firing. “So I helped him.” </p>
  <p>“<i>Hah!</i>” Dmitry snorted, striding out from behind the curtains with two more stools in his hands. “<i>You</i> helped me?”</p>
  <p>“But I thought you were handcuffed?” Anya pointed out, half-suppressing a chuckle. </p>
  <p>“Well, <i>well</i>.” Vlad raised his hands in an attempt to appease his complaining audience. “Perhaps I might be <i>misremembering</i> a few details here and there! No matter — the moral of the story is: there’s more to my clever, young friend than meets the eye, Anya.” He started sauntering back and forth across the stage at an easy pace. “I’ll admit it — at first, I had my doubts about him, too — but that day, it was either him or the firing squad. And he saved my life.”</p>
  <p>Improbable as it sounded, that seemed to be the <i>one</i> true part of the whole story. She could tell from the warmth in his tone. </p>
  <p>“A rash act of kindness,” Dmitry assured them. “Totally out of character.”</p>
  <p>Vlad waved him off with a merry chuckle.</p>
  <p>Anya smiled at the taller conman’s back as he strode past them. On second thought, it wasn’t that hard to believe he had saved Vlad — because he had saved her, too. Maybe she didn’t have enough reasons to dislike him, after all. Maybe he actually wasn’t callous or cruel; he was just the proverbial jerk with a heart of gold. Maybe she’d misjudged him. </p>
  <p>“Well — looks like you just did it again,” she said, tentatively. “Now I owe you <i>my</i> life, too. Thank—”</p>
  <p>Dmitry plonked the stools on the other end of the stage. They came down with a resounding clang — they screeched and tortured the marble flooring as he put them in position one next to the other. The noise echoed across the great, empty chamber like the wails of a particularly troubled banshee. </p>
  <p>The hairs on Anya’s arms stood on end. Across from her, Vlad hunched his shoulders and grimaced.</p>
  <p>“Stop trying, kid,” Dmitry said as he strode back and past her again. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”</p>
  <p>As he disappeared again behind the curtain, he sent a cloud of dust billowing up into the air.</p>
  <p>She absolutely, completely <i>hated</i> him. </p>
  <p>For a long minute, Anya sat and sulked in silence. Vlad heaved a deep, tragic sigh as he kept ambling lazily about the stage. </p>
  <p>She suspected he was discreetly trying to stay in motion. It <i>was</i> a little warmer inside the palace than outside, but not by a lot — and, since her clothes were still clinging wetly to her back, he had adamantly refused to let her give him his coat back. He was simply too kind and too generous for his own good. </p>
  <p>Or, at least, she <i>hoped</i> he was kind. She <i>hoped</i> he was generous — genuinely. She wanted to believe he wasn’t just trying to get her to trust him so he could then use her for his own secret purposes. But, then — one had to be pretty silly to trust a conman. It was just in their nature to be good at manipulating and deceiving people.</p>
  <p>Or was that just Gleb talking inside her head?</p>
  <p>A part of her retorted that one had to be crazy to trust a Bolshevik, too. </p>
  <p>“All right, these last ones are all we have.” Dmitry startled her as he stalked back onto the stage. “But I think that should do it. If we end up getting too many girls again, they can all just stand, or they can go home.”</p>
  <p>Ever since they’d arrived at the palace theater, Dmitry had been busy hauling and dragging stuff on the stage — the lamps and chairs and silly things like a table and a grimy china tea set, complete with a useless cracked teapot. Anya knew what all of these preparations were for. It was hard to believe someone as nice as Vlad would get involved with such an awful scheme as <i>this</i> — but he was probably just tagging along for the ride, so it was easier for her to forgive him. Dmitry, on the other hand, needed to sit quietly in prison for a while and rethink his life. Maybe about a hundred years would do. </p>
  <p>Dmitry went and plonked the chairs down next to the stools. Then, clapping the dust off his hands, he turned to Anya. </p>
  <p>“Now, <i>you</i>.” He was striding over to her.</p>
  <p>Anya leapt to her feet, ready for war. “What?”</p>
  <p>“We need to talk,” Dmitry said, folding his arms. “So — for some crazy, <i>unexplainable</i> reason, Vlad took pity on you. <i>Fine</i> — you get to stay with us tonight — but <i>I’m</i> laying down the rules of the game here. If you don’t like ‘em, you can walk away. Are we cool with that, girl?”</p>
  <p>“My name is Anya.”</p>
  <p>“I know what your name is,” he snapped. “Now - rule number one. You’re not touching our water. Or our food. This isn’t a soup kitchen. Second: if I hear you whimpering and complaining when it <i>really</i> starts to get cold in here, I’m kicking you out. Third—”</p>
  <p>“That’s a lot of rules, comrade,” Anya said, smiling. “It makes me curious — have you ever obeyed <i>one</i> rule in all your life?”</p>
  <p>“No.” Dmitry smiled back. “I wear that as a badge of honor. Rules are there to be broken — unless I’m the one making them. Then they’re there for weak people to follow. Anyway — <i>don’t interrupt me</i> — respect the boss, squirt! You only talk when I’m done talking — that’s rule number three. Now, moving on—”</p>
  <p>Pausing, he took a step back. His sharp eyes drilled into hers, his expression patronizing. </p>
  <p>“Here comes the most important thing of all,” he said. He held up his forefingers to really to hammer in his point. “Rule number four. You’re <i>not</i> allowed to pester me about… whatever it is you want from me.”</p>
  <p>Anya’s breath puffed out of her nostrils in indignation. </p>
  <p>“I don’t understand,” she said. “If it’s true that you can act like a decent person, Dmitry, why does it look like you’re just the lowest of the low right now?” </p>
  <p>“I’m sorry — come again?” he asked, indignant. “Girl, I’ve been too kind to you already! I scared away your nasty little ape friends! I let you in — I even forgave you for trying to <i>murder me from behind</i>. That’s more charity than I’ve ever done in my whole life!”</p>
  <p>“Well, I don’t want your charity!” Anya growled. “I’m not asking for a favor! I’m just like anyone else who’s ever come to you. If you help me, I can pay—”</p>
  <p>“Uh-huh,” he said. “With what — your broom?”</p>
  <p>“I actually just got a new job. Maybe I can’t pay you right now, but if you just—”</p>
  <p>“<i>What</i> do you do?” Dmitry droned, rolling his eyes. </p>
  <p>“I work at a stolovaya on the Nevsky Prospekt,” she said, trying to somehow make her modest post sound as big as possible. “It’s a very busy one — and I wash dishes. And I cook! And I also help with—” </p>
  <p>“You’re a kitchen girl,” he cut her off. Then, glancing at Vlad, he burst into laughter. “Did you hear that? She’s a <i>kitchen girl</i>! And she <i>thinks</i>—!“</p>
  <p>He didn’t even bother to finish his remark. Vlad, though, wasn’t joining in on his cackling. Anya turned to look at him. As he paced and listened, the kinder conman gave her a polite, noncomittal smile. </p>
  <p>There seemed to be a trace of encouragement folded away in the corner of his mouth. If the weak light from the lamps wasn’t playing tricks on her.</p>
  <p>Maybe her odds weren’t as bad as they looked like, after all. </p>
  <p>So she again turned to Dmitry. “I don’t see what’s so wrong with putting in the hours and saving up,” she pressed on. “All I need is a little time. I’m a hard worker! You’ll get your money.”</p>
  <p>The scoundrel’s laughter had died down. Now he was shaking his head at her in condescension. “All right, kid, listen. I really hate to break it to you—”</p>
  <p>“Dare I suggest, Dmitry — perhaps you might give this young woman a chance,” Vlad said. “You know, a hard worker is a hard worker. I’m sure the two of you can see eye to eye — you just need a chance to warm up to one another. Explore the — <i>hidden possibilities</i> — in this wonderful new friendship.” </p>
  <p>As he spoke, he beamed benignly at his comrade, and then at Anya. His smiling eyes lingered on her. </p>
  <p>“Now, dear Anya,” he continued. “There isn’t much food available for anyone these days — <i>but</i>! I think we do have some of that cheese left. And some bread — and it still isn’t <i>too</i> moldy to eat. I don’t know about you — but I am <i>positively</i> starving. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be off and prepare us a little something for dinner.” </p>
  <p>He gave them a curt goodbye nod and gracefully descended from the stage — with his calm, jaunty little steps. He strolled down the hall in the middle of the theater and out the ornate, arching doorway. </p>
  <p>Anya frowned as she watched him go. She wasn’t sure she liked the fact that she now had no one to back her up. But, at least, now Dmitry also didn’t have anyone to stonewall her with anymore.</p>
  <p>“<i>Ugh.</i>” Dmitry groaned, flopping into one of the chairs. “This is <i>ridiculous</i>. What <i>is</i> he thinking? Crazy old fool.”</p>
  <p>“Maybe he means exactly what he said?” Anya suggested. “That it wouldn’t kill you to just listen to me and help me?” </p>
  <p>“You’re a lost cause,” Dmitry said bluntly, shaking his head. “<i>Look</i> — I wouldn’t even care if… You could walk in here with a million rubles in your pocket. I’d still turn you away. That’s why I keep saying you’re wasting your time.”</p>
  <p>He slouched in the chair as he talked. He rested his ankle on his knee and glared at Anya as he crossed his arms. </p>
  <p>She stood firmly planted in front of him. She wasn’t going anywhere. </p>
  <p>“Well — then that’s all the better for me,” she said. “If you don’t want money — then, what? Just name it. There’s nothing I can’t do.”</p>
  <p>“I don’t want <i>anything</i>,” Dmitry said. “That’s the thing: I’m not doing business with <i>anyone</i> right now. I’m busy pulling off the biggest con in history. I can’t waste time taking on jobs from small fry like you.” </p>
  <p>Then his piercing stare switched targets. From Anya — to Gleb’s hat. </p>
  <p>“And, besides,” he went on, “you’re Red. That’s the other big reason. Heck, no — actually, that’s the biggest one. You can bet your life I don’t work for Reds.”</p>
  <p>Just then, as her cheeks started to heat up, Anya noticed the hat’s familiar weight on her head. It was so easy to get used to — she always forgot she was wearing it. And it was <i>always</i> giving people the wrong impression! She wanted to smack herself— </p>
  <p>She quickly swiped the hat off her head. </p>
  <p>“I don’t like Bolsheviks, either!” she said. “I’m not Red! I don’t even <i>like</i> this thing! I just — stole it.”</p>
  <p>That really was the best she could think of. </p>
  <p>The whole thing with Gleb was just too weird and hard to explain.</p>
  <p>“You <i>stole</i> it.” Dmitry smiled with searing skepticism. “Right. From who? And <i>how</i>?”</p>
  <p>Anya swallowed, trying to think fast. “That’s none of your business.”</p>
  <p>Dmitry’s smirk turned triumphant. “Listen, <i>congirl</i> — I’m good enough at my job to know who wears that kind of uniform. That right there is a chekist’s hat. Not just <i>any</i> chekist, either — that thing belongs to some top-ranking Bolshevik blue-blood. And you’re pawing at it like it’s a relic from your sweet dead granny or something. It’s disgusting.”</p>
  <p>He pointedly stared at the hat in her hands. Then Anya realized she’d been tugging at the ornate crimson band that was sewn atop its brim, being careful not to pull too hard at the seams. </p>
  <p>She wasn’t sure how to talk her way out of this one.</p>
  <p>“Hah,” Dmitry sniped. “Gotcha.” </p>
  <p>A hot flurry of anger surged up in her belly at his smugness — and then a lame, dirty, desperate tactic popped into her mind. She was going to use it. </p>
  <p>“Okay — you got me. So maybe I <i>do</i> have allies — big, powerful, important allies,” she said. “And, you know, I tried <i>really</i> hard to be nice to you — but if you want, we can also do this the hard way.”</p>
  <p>Dmitry’s brows quirked up in challenge. </p>
  <p>“I know what you’re doing,” Anya said. She gestured at all the clutter around them. “This is all for your — <i>dumb</i> Anastasia hoax, isn’t it? <i>That</i> is the biggest-con-in-history you keep going on about.”</p>
  <p>“You’re sharp, kid,” Dmitry deadpanned. “What gave it away?”</p>
  <p>Anya ignored him. “My friend in the Cheka thinks that makes you a scoundrel of the worst kind. And I actually agree with him on <i>that</i>.” She smiled. “Maybe I should report you to him. <i>If</i> you manage to get away from him <i>this</i> time, then at least you’ll have to find yourself a new hole to hide in — and all this junk you have here ends up in the hands of the government. <i>Then</i>, you’ll just have to cancel your little auditions for a while, comrade.” </p>
  <p>That got him to sit up straight. </p>
  <p>“You’re going to rat on me!” he snarled. “Huh. You’re just a piece of work, aren’t you? Not just crazy, violent, <i>and</i> a commie — but a <i>snitch</i>, too.” </p>
  <p>“I don’t want to do it.” She could feel the smug smirk on her face. “Not even if you deserve it. But I’ve come way too far and gotten into too much trouble — I’m <i>not</i> turning back now because of some nasty conman with an attitude problem.”</p>
  <p>Dmitry didn’t answer. He got to his feet — he was freakishly tall, and she had to tilt her head up to glare back at him. </p>
  <p>If looks could kill, Anya would’ve keeled over and died at that instant. </p>
  <p>The conman glanced around at the product of all his work — the lamps, the knickknacks, the mountain of dresses piled up in the corner. The ancient couch he’d dragged onto the stage at some point in the past — and the armchairs, and the blackboard, and the table. Then his irate gaze was drilling into her eyes again.</p>
  <p>His fingers, coated with dust, streaked his cheeks as he dragged his hand down his face. </p>
  <p>“Fine,” he muttered. “I’m gonna ask you a question, you little witch. There’s <i>one</i> right answer. Get it wrong, and I’ll throw you out right now.” He looked down his nose at her. “Can you keep your word?” </p>
  <p>“Yes,” she said at once. </p>
  <p>“Great. A while back, you promised — if I just <i>hear you out</i> and honestly <i>think about</i> working for you, you’ll go away in peace and leave us alone. Remember that?”</p>
  <p>“That’s what I said.”</p>
  <p>“And that’s what we’ll do,” he said, folding his arms. “Now you got me paying attention. That doesn’t mean I’m going to make <i>all your dreams</i> come true; I’ll just listen to your tale of doom and gloom — and then, if I feel like it, I’ll get you what you want. If I say no, you’ll get off my back and <i>nicely</i> walk away. <i>Without</i> ratting us out to your chekist boyfriend.”</p>
  <p>Anya bristled. “He’s not my—”</p>
  <p>“Sure he’s not. You know — this is a better trade than you’ll get from <i>anyone</i> else,” Dmitry went on. “Most guys I know would’ve just put you <i>right out of business</i> by this point, if you get what I’m saying. You’re lucky I’m the nicest hustler in this city.” He grudgingly put out his hand for a handshake. “So? We got a deal?”</p>
  <p>Anya stared down at his frayed woolen glove and his sooty, naked fingers. She bit her lip. This wasn’t exactly reassuring — but she’d definitely come farther tonight than she ever had before. Her gut told her not to push her luck this time. </p>
  <p>“Deal.” She nodded grimly. </p>
  <p>She reluctantly took his hand. It was large and warm. His grip felt like he’d broken all her fingers in one go. </p>
  <p>“Nice,” Dmitry said sarcastically. “Now go away. I’ll talk to you later.”</p>
  <p>“<i>What</i>? But you said—”</p>
  <p>“I said I’m busy right now.” Grasping her shoulders, he spun her around and gave her a shove forward. “Go sit in some far-off corner and hold your breath, snitch. In just a minute, the girls are gonna — ah, speak of the devil! You are <i>just</i> in time, ladies.”</p>
  <p>Anya couldn’t speak — she had seen the women before he had, and her stomach had dropped all the way down to her feet. There they were — making their way down the central aisle, glancing around with some apprehension. </p>
  <p>She knew who they were. </p>
  <p>Marfa stopped dead as their eyes met. “<i>What</i>—?”</p>
  <p>“Anya?” Paulina’s eyes were wide as saucers. “What’re you—?”</p>
  <p>“Tell me this isn’t happening,” Dunya said.</p>
  <p>“Hi, comrades,” Anya said reluctantly. Hopefully they were far enough, and the lanterns’ light was dim enough to hide her bruises. “This isn’t what you think it’s about.”</p>
  <p>“Right,” Dunya deadpanned. </p>
  <p>“Huh. So you know each other?” Dmitry asked.</p>
  <p>Anya sighed. “Not really.”</p>
  <p>“<i>Seriously</i>, Anya? <i>You</i>?” Paulina questioned. “But — you’re the Deputy Commissioner’s girlfriend!”</p>
  <p>Anya’s face started heating up. “I am <i>not</i> his—!”</p>
  <p>“Ah-hah!” Dmitry said. “I knew it.”</p>
  <p>“<i>No</i>,” she said. “It’s <i>nothing</i> like — why does <i>everyone</i>—!” She was pulling at her cheek in frustration. “Everybody, listen to me! Commissioner Vaganov is <i>just</i> my—”</p>
  <p>“Okay, shut up, it’s not like it actually matters.” Dmitry waved for the women to get on the stage. “All right, ladies — on with the show! Never mind the Red girl — she’s just part of the background — like the rats, but more annoying. Now—”</p>
  <p>Thankfully, that took their attention away from her. She decided this was the right time for her to scamper out of the spotlight. She shoved past Dmitry, hurried down the steps— </p>
  <p>Marfa caught her by the arm as they walked past each other. </p>
  <p>“Listen, Anya,” she whispered harshly, “I don’t know what you’re trying to do here — but if you rat on us, <i>we’ll</i> rat on <i>you</i>.”</p>
  <p>“Yeah,” Dunya said, “Vaganov and Gorev will just <i>love</i> to know what their little <i>Anyechka</i> has been up to.”</p>
  <p>Paulina looked at the floor and nodded mutely.</p>
  <p>There was a nasty knot in Anya’s stomach. Glaring at each of them in turn, she decided they weren’t worth replying to. She yanked her arm free and stalked away from them. </p>
  <hr/>
  <p>Anya wandered aimlessly along the hallway outside the theater, looking for Vlad. </p>
  <p>She wished she’d thought to bring one of those lanterns.</p>
  <p>The Yusupov Palace had to be the most run-down place in Petersburg. It seemed there had been a fire here, long ago. As her eyes got used to the darkness, she thought she could make out the charred remains of paintings mounted on ornate frames on the walls. She walked very slowly and carefully. The floor was strewn all over with debris — stone and plaster, splintered wood, smashed ceramic, broken glass. She supposed this was all that was left of the lovely things that must’ve been here once. The tables and pedestals — the armchairs, the couches — the vases, sculptures, mirrors, and all that. </p>
  <p>The wind swept and whistled across the hallway. Most of the windows were broken, and giant chunks of the outer walls were missing; they looked like they’d been blown up. Gales of snow were blowing in from outside, mixing with all the dust and ash to create treacherous puddles of slush on the floor. It was cold. </p>
  <p>She could hear the skittering of rats somewhere. The faint chiming of bells. In the distance, a clock tower had just struck midnight. </p>
  <p>A long day had just dragged to an end. </p>
  <p>She wasn’t feeling all that chipper about the way things had turned out, either. </p>
  <p><i>‘Vaganov and Gorev will just love to know—’</i> Dunya’s voice taunted in her mind.</p>
  <p>At the words, a sense of dread gnawed at her insides. She shook her head — tried to ignore it. She shouldn’t be too upset about—</p>
  <p>She stumbled with a thing that might’ve been a table once. She reached out wildly for anything to stop her fall — and her hand latched on to a dusty marble railing. Squinting, she managed to make out the shape of it stretching forward and back along the hallway. It led to a flight of great, broad steps of polished stone just a few steps away. Whatever lay beyond was swathed in darkness. </p>
  <p>Now she wasn’t sure which way to go. With a sigh, she sat down at the top of the staircase, wrapping Vlad’s coat tightly about herself. </p>
  <p>If Gleb knew she was here now, how would he react?</p>
  <p>She chewed on her lip as she puzzled over that. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of — something halfway between guilt and dread.</p>
  <p>Better not to wonder about it. It wasn’t like her to waste time on scruples, anyway. Fretting about stuff only slowed her down — so it was better not to think too hard about anything. Figuring things out <i>halfway</i> was good enough. That was the way she’d always done things, and it’d got her this far. Sure — in ten years, she’d gotten into more scrapes than most people went through in their whole lives — but that didn’t matter. She never bothered with plans and what-ifs, because she had all she needed to keep on moving forward: her hopes, her dreams… The blurry, scattered visions that still lingered in her memory — nostalgic little remnants of a past lifetime. </p>
  <p>And… the voices. Those voices. Anya could hear them even now — the disembodied whispers of a young child and a woman. They came to visit her on those rare, quiet nights when her nightmares were absent. And they always left her with a deep, strange longing she couldn’t understand.</p>
  <p>
    <i>‘Take me to Paris with you!’</i>
  </p>
  <p><i>‘Wherever I go, you’ll always be with me.’</i> </p>
  <p>“Anya?” </p>
  <p>Hearing a man’s voice, she gave a start. On instinct, she jumped up to her feet, seizing a chunk of wood from the floor to defend herself. </p>
  <p>A terrified Vlad took a step back, raising up his hands in surrender. </p>
  <p>“Oh, I’m sorry!” he yelped. “I never meant to bother! If you want, I’ll leave you be!”</p>
  <p>His eyes were anxiously pinned on the jagged edges of the armrest in her hands. With a sigh of relief, Anya threw the thing away. It tumbled down the staircase with a deafening, rippling echo — like another revolution had just happened in the great, empty chamber below.</p>
  <p>She gazed sheepishly at the conman. “Sorry. Please don’t ever scare me like that again.”</p>
  <p>“I beg your pardon, darling,” Vlad said. “I just heard the new girls doing their auditions — and I came to see where you’d wandered off to. I figured you wouldn’t want to be all alone in this old palace.”</p>
  <p>“You guessed right,” she admitted. His kindliness warmed up her spirits a little bit.</p>
  <p>“Come along, then,” he said merrily, offering her his arm. “Dinner is served! Or — at least yours is, and mine will be soon. And, Dmitry? Well” —there was a trace of mischief in his tone— “he’s better at keeping the rats in check when he’s hungry.”</p>
  <p>She found herself laughing heartily at that. </p>
  <hr/>
  <p>Vlad led her to a room with a vaulting ceiling farther down the hall. It was almost empty, except for the little wooden table and the two folding chairs at the center. By the flickering light of the oil lamp on the table, Anya could see the shape of a large, half-eaten wheel of cheese, a loaf of bread, and a blunt iron knife.</p>
  <p>Come to think of it, she was so hungry she wouldn’t mind hunting for a few rats, herself.</p>
  <p>She plopped down on a chair, and Vlad tried to pass her a plate with a few slices of cheese and bread. She lifted her hand in refusal. </p>
  <p>“Oh, no,” she said. “I’ll wait until you’re ready, comrade.” </p>
  <p>He was thrown aback a moment. He was too used to being the only person with manners in the room. </p>
  <p>“Heh,” he rasped. He lay the plate aside. “But be warned, dear — this might take a while! This old cheese is as hard and cold as a chekist’s heart.”</p>
  <p>As he spoke, he stabbed at the cheese with the knife. Or tried to. The blade didn’t even sink in an inch.</p>
  <p>“That’s all right.” She couldn’t help but frown at his choice of words. “And thank you. You’re quite the gentleman… Even if your comrade is not.”</p>
  <p>“Life has not been easy for my young friend.” </p>
  <p>The table rocked as Vlad replaced his stabbing with sawing motions — just as vainly. Anya pressed her elbows down on the tabletop, trying to improve things a bit. </p>
  <p>“Life hasn’t been easy for anyone,” she grumbled.</p>
  <p>“Some of us have had it a little worse than others,” Vlad said. “Dmitry just happens to be a distinguished graduate from the school of hard knocks. But — don’t despair! There <i>is</i> a more charming side to him — you’ll find out soon enough. You just have to give him a little time.”</p>
  <p>Cutting the cheese was a little easier with Anya holding down the table. Sweat trickled down Vlad’s temple as he hacked away at it, despite the vicious chill that hung in the room. Well, at least it was helping keep him warm. </p>
  <p>Apparently, the room was closer to the theater than she’d thought at first. The echo from Dmitry’s auditions could reach them here — clearly enough that Anya could make out the words. Even though she couldn’t see them, her coworkers’ terrible acting was making her wince in secondhand embarrassment.</p>
  <p>“I am the Grand Duchess Anastasia Romanov!” Marfa had just announced. </p>
  <p>“Try it this time without the gum in your mouth,” came Dmitry’s retort.</p>
  <p>“It’s not gum. It’s tobacco.” A moment of silence. And then Marfa was at it again. “It’s me, Grandmamma! Your <i>precious</i> Anastasia! They shot me but I lived and I came all the way to Paris to tell you I’m alive. I’m not really an actress.” </p>
  <p>“I think that was good?” Paulina offered. </p>
  <p>“I did it way better,” Dunya said flatly.</p>
  <p><i>‘Why is this happening to me?’</i> Anya had to wonder. She wanted to distract herself making conversation with Vlad, but the whole farce was so ridiculous she couldn’t stop listening. It was like watching a train wreck burn.</p>
  <p>Over the next half hour, Anya and Vlad took turns holding down the table and sawing at the cheese. (They managed to cut five thin slices off it — and then it was time to start sawing at the bread.) Meanwhile, in the theater, it turned out Marfa had set the bar high for all the would-be impostors who came after her. After Dmitry kicked her out — along with Dunya and Paulina — a few other women tried their luck at being the mythic Romanov Grand Duchess, each of them more pitiable than the last. </p>
  <p>By the end of it, Dmitry sounded like he just wanted his misery to be over. “Thank you, ladies. We’ll let you know.”</p>
  <p>His Anastasias complained and threatened to report him. </p>
  <p>There was a scuffle and panicked shrieking as he chased them out. </p>
  <p>The thumping of his steps on the hallway — and the crunching of glass and china — echoed louder and harsher as he came closer. And then Dmitry stalked into the room. </p>
  <p>“This is a <i>complete</i> waste of our time!” he huffed. </p>
  <p>“Well, who were you expecting — Sarah Bernhardt?” Vlad was finally setting down his plate on the table and sitting down. “Anastasias don’t grow on trees, Dmitry.”</p>
  <p>Dmitry swiftly snatched up the plate as he strode past. Vlad blinked as the food in front of him vanished from one moment to the next.</p>
  <p>“Yeah, it’s not over,” Dmitry said, popping a piece of cheese into his mouth. “I’ll go to Siberia to find an Anastasia.”</p>
  <p>“You <i>do</i> deserve to end up in Siberia,” Anya said. “I hope your dreams take you there someday, comrade.”</p>
  <p>Dmitry gave her an offhand glance. “Ah, you,” he said through a mouthful of bread. “You’re not gone. I was kinda hoping… Eh, no such luck.” </p>
  <p>She glowered at the plate in his hands. “Give that back.” </p>
  <p>“It’s all right, Anya,” Vlad sighed. He took his place by the cheese wheel and picked up the knife again. “At least this is good exercise.”</p>
  <p>Dmitry then sat down in Vlad’s chair. “There must be something we’re not doing right,” he muttered while he ate. “We’re not bringing in the right women. There’s got to be <i>someone</i> better than <i>this</i> in all of Petersburg.”</p>
  <p>“Well, perhaps there is,” Vlad suggested, tenaciously sawing. “Talented actresses do often come from the most <i>unexpected</i> places.”</p>
  <p>And he glanced hopefully from Dmitry to Anya once more. </p>
  <p>“<i>No</i>,” they both snapped. </p>
  <p>“Vlad — I’m sorry,” Anya said. “I wouldn’t be caught dead playing princess for this stuck-up, greedy—”</p>
  <p>“<i>This</i> wacko would get us arrested before we even made it out of Petersburg,” Dmitry said, jutting out his thumb in her direction. “Who knows how she’s managed to stay alive this long!”</p>
  <p>Anya turned on him, bristling. “Says the man who thinks he’ll find a decent impostor for a princess if he <i>just</i> keeps on scouring the back alleys of Petersburg long enough! And <i>then</i> wonders what he could <i>possibly</i> be doing wrong!”</p>
  <p>“The lady raises some fair points,” Vlad said. </p>
  <p>“Whose side are you on?” Dmitry demanded.</p>
  <p>“I am not taking sides, comrade.” Vlad held up his hand — and the knife — in a conciliatory gesture. “I’m just suggesting we <i>might</i> try some new ideas if we want to get better results than we have so far. Well — it was Anya’s suggestion, in fact. I’m merely putting it in laymen’s terms.”</p>
  <p>Anya had to blink at that. Was <i>that</i> what she’d actually meant to say? </p>
  <p>Maybe Dmitry was wondering the same thing. He gave her a long, doubtful look. </p>
  <p>“Eh. Never mind,” he muttered finally. “I’ll figure something out eventually.”</p>
  <p>For a blissful, quiet minute, he just gnawed away at the food he’d stolen from his friend.</p>
  <p>Suddenly, with a loud thud that echoed across the hallway, Vlad’s knife struck wood. A lone slice of cheese fell away from the wheel. “Ah-hah!” he crowed, victorious. </p>
  <p>Anya clapped in admiration of his perseverance. </p>
  <p>“Well,” Dmitry sighed, once he’d finished off the last piece of bread. “Let’s just get this over and done with.” He gazed at her sullenly. “You got me all to yourself now, commie — just like I promised. What do you want?”</p>
  <p>Anya was stunned speechless for a moment. She’d actually thought he was going to try to weasel out of their deal. He’d kept his word! </p>
  <p>“I need exit papers to Paris,” she said, not missing a beat. </p>
  <p>“Is that all?” Dmitry droned. “<i>That’s</i> what you’ve been causing me <i>all this trouble</i> for?”</p>
  <p>“Yes.”</p>
  <p>He’d slouched back in his chair as before, crossing his arms. “I don’t think you’ve thought this through. If all you want is papers, then what do you need <i>me</i> for? Your chekist boyfriend can easily get you that.”</p>
  <p>Anya’s mouth opened to shoot a reply at him. Except nothing came. </p>
  <p>She had actually never thought of that before. </p>
  <p>Again the knife banged on the table. Vlad had just missed chopping off a finger by a hair’s breadth. </p>
  <p>“Chekist… <i>boyfriend</i>?” he asked, his voice quivering in horror.</p>
  <p>“<i>Friend</i>,” Anya corrected him. </p>
  <p>Dmitry smiled like he’d just coerced a confession of guilt out of her. </p>
  <p>“<i>Ugh</i>!” She got to her feet, frustrated. “Can everyone <i>please</i> get over this?! Yes — it <i>just</i> happens that he <i>is</i> a chekist, and he <i>is</i> my friend! My <i>friend</i>! What is it to <i>you</i> two, anyway? At least he’s <i>way</i> nicer than <i>him</i>!” She stabbed her finger at Dmitry.</p>
  <p>But Vlad had stopped paying attention at the first word. “Chekist… <i>friend</i>?”</p>
  <p>It was like he’d learned she was actually a werewolf. </p>
  <p>“You didn’t think the hat was a family heirloom, did you?” Dmitry swung his legs on top of her empty seat, crossing them at the ankles. “I <i>told</i> you she was nothing but trouble.”</p>
  <p>“And I’d love to see him throw you in jail, where you belong,” she growled. “Not Vlad, mind you. Just you.” </p>
  <p>She seized her chair and pulled it out from under his feet. He looked annoyed at that — well, what was he expecting? </p>
  <p>“The truth is, though… I really need your help,” she admitted, sitting down again. The more she turned it over in her mind, the less likely it seemed that Gleb would be leaping for joy at the idea of helping her escape the country. “He… Commissioner Vaganov isn’t the kind who helps people seek their fortunes abroad. Actually, it’s sort of the contrary.”</p>
  <p>“<i>Commissioner</i> Vaganov,” Vlad mumbled, dazed. “<i>Commissioner</i>!” </p>
  <p>“<i>Deputy</i> Commissioner,” she corrected herself. “Sorry. I always get it wrong.”</p>
  <p>“Well, he’s a better bet than me, I’ll tell you that,” Dmitry said. “Exit papers are expensive. <i>If</i> — for the sake of argument — you <i>somehow</i> convinced me to do this for you, <i>how</i> would you put the money together, kitchen girl?” </p>
  <p>“I’ll find a way, believe me!” Anya’s hands had balled up into fists on the table. “I’m good at figuring things out! That’s how I came all the way here from Yekaterinburg. If my job’s not enough, I can—”</p>
  <p>Dmitry raised his eyebrows at her. She trailed off.</p>
  <p>“Whoa, there. Wait,” he said. “Sorry — <i>where</i> did you say you’re from?”</p>
  <p>“Yekaterinburg?” Anya stared at him, puzzled. “Does that matter?”</p>
  <p>“Well — no,” he chuckled. “I just think you’re puffing up your case a bit much, comrade. That’s not gonna get you very far with me, you know? <i>I’m</i> the con artist here.”</p>
  <p>Anya frowned. “You think I’m <i>lying</i>?"</p>
  <p>He gave her a skeptical smile. “Yekaterinburg’s a long way from here.” </p>
  <p>“I <i>know</i>. I <i>walked</i> it." </p>
  <p>She glared into Dmitry’s eyes. He held her gaze, not at all flinching or looking away. But — it seemed he’d found something there that he hadn’t expected to see. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His incredulity had evaporated.</p>
  <p>“You <i>walked</i> here?” he asked. “<i>All the way</i> from Yekaterinburg?”</p>
  <p>“It took me ten years,” Anya said simply. “I had no choice.”</p>
  <p>“Huh.” </p>
  <p>Now it seemed he was interested despite himself. His eyes briefly darted away to the side — he was privately mulling on something. </p>
  <p>“And those thugs from a while back — I’m guessing they had something to do with it — right?” he asked. “And you say you’re best friends with — the Cheka. And <i>now</i> you’re wanting to run off to Paris. So you came looking for <i>me</i>.” He chuckled quietly with a blend of disbelief and amusement. “Girl, who <i>are</i> you? Who’re you running from?” </p>
  <p>“Indeed, that’s a good question,” Vlad chimed in. He was listening in to the whole thing while he wrestled with the cheese wheel. “I suppose, if you put it <i>that</i> way — it would appear we’ve found ourselves quite a guest!” </p>
  <p>“No, no — you’re getting it wrong! It’s not—” Anya shook her head, trying to think of how to say it right. “I’m not running <i>from</i> anyone. It’s more like — I’m running <i>to</i> someone.”</p>
  <p>The conmen stared at her curiously. </p>
  <p>She realized they were waiting for her to continue.</p>
  <p>“It’s — I don’t know — they’re waiting for me in Paris,” she went on, trying not to sound crazy. “See, I promised to… I <i>have</i> to find them, no matter what. I just… don’t know who they are yet — but it doesn’t matter! I’ll figure that out when I get there.”</p>
  <p>Admittedly, not sounding crazy was kind of hard right now. </p>
  <p>That skeptical look filtered back into Dmitry’s eyes. He raised an eyebrow. </p>
  <p>“Because — I have amnesia!” Anya blurted, trying to keep things from going south again. “That’s why. But I <i>told</i> you — it <i>doesn’t</i> matter! <i>Please</i> don’t think—”</p>
  <p>But the conmen, she realized, weren’t put off by that at all. On the contrary…</p>
  <p>Now they were looking at her like she was the best prize at an auction. </p>
  <p>And then they glanced at each other. </p>
  <p>And they looked at her again. </p>
  <p>Anya was suddenly feeling a little nervous. </p>
  <p>“Huh. Amnesia, you say?” Dmitry murmured, touching a knuckle to his mouth thoughtfully. “Well. That’s just… <i>so</i>…”</p>
  <p>“<i>Tragic</i>,” Vlad said.</p>
  <p>“Yes, <i>tragic</i>! Of <i>course</i> it’s tragic — it’s terrible! Awful sorry for you, comrade — I really am.” Dmitry got up to his feet eagerly, clasping his hands together. “So anyway, Anna—”</p>
  <p>“<i>Anya</i>,” Vlad said, smiling tightly.</p>
  <p>“<i>Anya</i>, right! That’s what I said.” As if he were someone else altogether, Dmitry casually strolled over to her around the table. “See, comrade — <i>now</i> I’m thinking, maybe you and I just started things off on the wrong foot. Why don’t we try again? It turns out — maybe I can help you, after all.” </p>
  <p>As he stepped behind her, Anya twisted around in her seat — so as not to lose him from sight. “Uh-huh.”</p>
  <p>“And, you know?” Dmitry’s fingers had curled around her chair’s backrest. “Maybe I was completely wrong about you. Maybe you’re <i>not</i> more trouble than you’re worth. It just so happens you can help us, too.”</p>
  <p>She couldn’t believe he was proposing this to <i>her</i>.</p>
  <p>“I thought we were beyond this.” She got up angrily and strode away from him. “If I didn’t it make clear enough — I <i>don’t</i> want anything to do with you and your schemes, Dmitry! I <i>won’t</i> help you lie to an old woman and break her heart.”</p>
  <p>“I’m <i>just</i> saying” —the conman raised his hands in appeasement— “now that we know each other a <i>little</i> better, I completely understand how you feel about all this, Anya.”</p>
  <p>He took a tentative step toward her — like a cat getting ready to pounce. (Anya took a matching step back.) “<i>Obviously</i>, conning people isn’t your thing,” he was saying. “You’re a good girl. You’re too kind to just — walk right up to a sad old lady and take her money. That’s so sweet of you — really! But I <i>just</i> want you to ask yourself — what if this <i>didn’t</i> have to be a con, after all?”</p>
  <p>The gears in Anya’s head were turning fast. Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”</p>
  <p>“Well,” Dmitry said, “what if we <i>didn’t</i> have to settle for just any bimbo? What if we actually found the <i>real</i> Grand Duchess Anastasia?”</p>
  <p>Now on her side of the table, he turned his eye on the plate Vlad had served for her. He snatched up a piece of the bread.</p>
  <p>“Then, we wouldn’t be <i>conning</i> anybody!” he went on. “We’d be <i>helping</i> her find her way back home to her dear old babushka in Paris.” The bread crunched and cracked in his mouth like he was chewing on a brick. He turned to Vlad for support. “Ain’t that right, comrade?”</p>
  <p>“You’ve read my mind, old friend,” Vlad said. His knife victoriously bonked the table one last time. A thick wedge of cheese plopped onto his waiting palm. “If <i>that</i> were the case — indeed — we would simply be helping a war-torn family get back together. The <i>royal</i> family, no less! Hah — wouldn’t that be <i>royally</i> splendid?” </p>
  <p>“<i>And</i>” —Dmitry was rubbing his hands gleefully— “answer me <i>this</i>, Anya—”</p>
  <p>“No.” She knew what they were up to now. She had heard enough.</p>
  <p>“But it’s a harmless little question—” </p>
  <p>“I know what it is. The answer’s no.”</p>
  <p>“Oh, come on, don’t be like that!” Dmitry said. “Think about it, comrade! This is something that could <i>change your life</i>!” </p>
  <p>He approached her again — fast and stealthy. Before she could react, he’d draped his arm around her shoulders — and he was not letting go. </p>
  <p>“Anya, listen — picture <i>this</i>!” he was saying. “What if you are none other than the missing Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova herself?” His other hand was gesturing grandly at his castles in the sky. “Maybe you just <i>forgot</i> because of — you know — all that trauma from losing your whole family the Bolsheviks, and so on. What if you have been <i>royalty</i> this whole time, and you never even <i>knew</i> it?”</p>
  <p>“You’ve got to be joking.” She finally managed to wriggle out of his grasp. </p>
  <p>“You have to admit it’s worth a thought!” Dmitry badgered on. “I mean, don’t you think it’s just a <i>lot</i> of funny coincidences? You’ve got blond hair, blue eyes — even the right face shape, too.” He inspected her face, wincing at her bruises. “I mean — from what I can tell beneath all that black and blue.”</p>
  <p>“<i>And</i> you come from Yekaterinburg,” Vlad added, happily chewing on the fruit of his labor. “That’s quite important.” </p>
  <p>“Important?” she asked. She was trying to put distance between her and Dmitry again. “I’m sorry — I don’t see how.”</p>
  <p>“Oh.” Vlad blinked. He looked genuinely surprised. “I’m sorry, dear. Didn’t you know?”</p>
  <p>“Know <i>what</i>?”</p>
  <p>“Aah. <i>Right</i>.” Dmitry was pacing in slow, broad semi-circles around her, like a shark. “Yeah — good thinking, Vlad. Well, of course she doesn’t know! The poor thing. Yekaterinburg was the last place anybody saw Anastasia before the Romanovs were killed, Anya,” he explained.</p>
  <p>“It was?”</p>
  <p>Her eyes widened involuntarily. For some reason, knowing that was just very disturbing. </p>
  <p>“Yep,” Dmitry said. “Last thing anyone knew, they were all being herded into this big, old house that was supposed to be their prison for a week or two. They never walked back out.” </p>
  <p>“Okay — that’s enough; shut up,” she said. “Way too grim.”</p>
  <p>She just didn’t want to hear any more of this.</p>
  <p>Vlad smiled amiably. “It could be a story with a happy ending, dear.”</p>
  <p>“Yeah,” Dmitry said, “If you <i>were</i> Anastasia — well, that’d be like history setting itself right, in a way. You know — <i>the last Romanov</i> — taking on the whole Bolshevik regime. Getting back together with her crazy-rich grandmother against the odds.” He grinned at her. “With some help from a friend or two.”</p>
  <p>Anya wanted to come up with a retort to shoot at him. But — she couldn’t.</p>
  <p>Against her better judgment, some part of her was trying to make sense of all these things. She reminded herself that these men couldn’t be trusted. They didn’t <i>care</i> about her one bit; all they wanted was to get her tangled up in their schemes. She shouldn’t listen to a word they uttered! Shouldn’t let them plant their poisonous ideas in her head. </p>
  <p>Because — really — <i>so what</i> if she looked the same as the Romanov Grand Duchess? Blond hair, blue eyes, round face — thin eyebrows, and a tiny nose? Nearly every woman in Russia looked like that.</p>
  <p>And what did it matter that she’d woken up on that very first night that she could remember — in the exact same city where Anastasia had been seen for the last time? At that hospital in Yekaterinburg — with a bullet wound in her chest, and a whole lifetime’s memories erased and gone.</p>
  <p>“Ah. See?” Dmitry said, satisfied. “You’re thinking about it. Maybe it doesn’t sound <i>that</i> crazy after all.”</p>
  <p>Anya stared at him and pursed her lips. She felt anxious. </p>
  <p>But — mostly, annoyed with herself. </p>
  <p>How could she be actually <i>considering</i> all this madness? How silly and ridiculous was it to believe <i>she</i> was royalty — and not only that, but the Romanovs’ heiress in the flesh! — just because of a bunch of random facts she wished she’d never known about. </p>
  <p>She couldn’t allow herself to fall for this. </p>
  <p>“Lying to an amnesiac is a low and vile trick to pull — even for you, Dmitry,” she said. <i>Firmly</i>. “I’m not going to keep playing tug-of-war with you. We both know I’m as much a Romanov as <i>you</i> are.” </p>
  <p>That got his pacing to stop. He turned to look at her, like the resolve in her voice had surprised him. </p>
  <p>He gazed at her in silence a moment, thinking. He was plainly transparent to her now; in his mind, having no memories meant she was dumb and naive and easy to manipulate — and that made her <i>just</i> the Anastasia he wanted. Well, he had another thing coming.</p>
  <p>“You know what?” he said. “Fine. I’ll stop pushing.”</p>
  <p>Off to the side, Vlad choked on the cheese he was nibbling on. Anya rushed to slap his back in an effort to help. </p>
  <p>As she did so, she cast a doubtful glance at Dmitry — he was yawning and stretching lazily. </p>
  <p>“Well, comrades,” he said, “I’m done with you — good night. I’m gonna hit the sack right now.”</p>
  <p>With that, he headed for the door. But, stopping halfway, he turned to glance back at her. </p>
  <p>“Oh — and, Anya? You win,” he said. “A promise is a promise. I listened to your weird sob story, and I have to admit it’s a good one. It was fun. So I’ll get you your papers.”</p>
  <p>“You will? Really?” Now — <i>this</i> was just too good to be true. “So what’s the catch?”</p>
  <p>“There’s no catch,” he said nonchalantly. “No risk, no strings attached, no fine print. Don’t ask — I’m just too tired to keep on bargaining with you.” </p>
  <p>He gave Vlad a fleeting sideways glance. Anya wondered whether that meant something — or if he was just looking on as his comrade hacked and coughed to expel the cheese from his windpipe.</p>
  <p>“Tell you what. You don’t even have to pay for anything,” Dmitry went on. “Just come visit us two weeks from now, and I’ll give you your passport.” He smiled at her. “<i>Then</i> you’ll just have to figure out on your own how you’re gonna save up for a ticket to Paris — <i>before</i> your chekist shuts down every border that is still open. But, hey — you’re a smart girl. I just know you’ll think of something.” </p>
  <p>Anya stood there, dumbstruck. There was another thing she’d never thought about.</p>
  <p>Once or twice, she’d heard people were having a hard time getting out of Russia. So — was <i>this</i> the reason? Were the borders really closing? </p>
  <p>Or was this just another nasty trick in his bag?</p>
  <p>Dmitry kept beaming at her genially, as if waiting for her to say something. Next to her, Vlad had finally recovered — now his fingers, powdered with cheese and bread crumbs, were stroking his beard meditatively. </p>
  <p>“And I’m guessing tickets aren’t a problem for <i>you</i>,” Anya said, smiling thinly. </p>
  <p>“Nope,” Dmitry said. “Not for the Grand Duchess and me. <i>We</i> are leaving for Paris before the month is out — but I’ll shut up about that already. You don’t wanna get involved. I respect that. Real shame, though.” </p>
  <p>“My young friend is quite right, I suppose,” Vlad rasped in lamentation, clearing his throat. “You had <i>so</i> much potential, darling. I knew it from the moment I laid eyes on you. A shame indeed.”</p>
  <p>“And she could’ve been the <i>real</i> Anastasia!” Dmitry said to him. “I mean — she <i>could’ve</i> been. No harm in finding out for sure. She had nothing to lose.” </p>
  <p>“It would have been wonderful to see her up on the stage.”</p>
  <p>“Yeah.” Dmitry folded his arms, nodding regretfully. “I can’t believe the poor old biddy will be getting a cheap knockoff when she could’ve had the original. But what can you do when a girl says no. Right?”</p>
  <p>And they both turned their eyes on Anya. </p>
  <p>A new flutter of disquiet stirred up in her stomach — those terrible doubts again. She suddenly had the hair-raising sensation that coincidences could actually <i>mean</i> something when they started piling up. And — if the borders really were closing, that meant time was running out for her. What if—? For one wild instant, it looked like her <i>only</i> chance to find out the truth about herself was slapping her in the face — and she was about to <i>miss</i>—</p>
  <p>Except—!</p>
  <p>‘<i>Except,</i>’ she thought, gazing at these men with smiling faces and black intentions. </p>
  <p>Except, now they were just trying to mess with her head again. Playing mind games. Like leeches — latching on to her hopes and dreams, as if trying to use her amnesia to their advantage weren’t bad enough.</p>
  <p>And — at some point, her hands had started fidgeting with Gleb’s hat again, all on their own. She glanced down at it, surprised — and then his wise words of warning were suddenly fresh on her mind again. <i>Now</i> she knew what he’d been trying to say — conmen really <i>were</i> tempters of the cruelest, most unscrupulous kind. Clever and wily and sneaky like the rats that lived with them in this cold, abandoned palace. </p>
  <p>She set her jaw. Her mind was made up. </p>
  <p>She took a resolute step back — away from them. </p>
  <p>“Right,” she said. “No means no.”</p>
  <p>She let Vlad’s coat slip off her shoulders. Immediately, the room seemed to be five degrees colder — but she refused to shiver. </p>
  <p>“Thank you, comrade,” she said, tossing the frayed bundle of wool back at Vlad. “That was kind of you. I don’t need this anymore.”</p>
  <p>For one second, Dmitry’s face betrayed a look of disappointment. But it came and went so fleetingly she was almost left wondering if it’d ever been there at all.</p>
  <p>“Fair enough,” he said, nodding — with that same fake courteous air. “Well, then that’s that. And since you’re staying with us, Anya, I guess you can sleep on the sack of lentils, too.”</p>
  <p>“You’re our guest of honor tonight, dear,” Vlad added cheerily, draping his coat over her shoulders once more.</p>
  <p>These men were pretty hard to discourage. </p>
  <p>“And — tomorrow, feel free to stick around as long as you want,” Dmitry said. “If you feel like doing an audition — <i>just</i> to try being your old, royal self for five minutes — well…” </p>
  <p>He gave her a sly, shameless smirk. Anya folded her arms. She took another step back for good measure.</p>
  <p>“Just say the word,” the conman purred.</p>
  <p>After that, he and Vlad went away to the palace theater to settle in for the night. Anya chose to sleep alone in the cheese room — because she’d never fall asleep within fifty feet of them — and because tonight’s nightmare was probably going to be the mother of all nightmares. It was better if they didn’t have to hear her whimpering and shrieking through what was left of the night.</p>
  <p>Dmitry hauled in an enormous burlap sack for her to sleep on. As she lay on it, with her arms wrapped around her knees to fend off the cold, she shut her eyes and tried to stop the turmoil in her head. She couldn’t. She thought of the phantoms who clung to her and screamed alongside her in her night terrors. The girls. The boy. She thought of the fire and smoke, the terrifying armed men in uniforms. The gunshots. </p>
  <p><i>‘Yekaterinburg was the last place anybody saw Anastasia before the Romanovs were killed.’</i> Dmitry’s words haunted her.</p>
  <p>
    <i>‘Herded into this big, old house… their prison.’</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>‘They never walked back out.’</i>
  </p>
  <p>Groaning, she buried her face in her sleeve. </p>
  <p>She couldn’t understand anything tonight. And she didn’t have to. </p>
  <p>She decided she’d get up and get out of the palace as soon as morning came. She wouldn’t even greet the conmen — wouldn’t give herself time to flirt with temptation. She’d just leave — and then she’d be back here in two weeks to get her papers. Gleb would never even find out — she wouldn’t get into too much trouble for this. And then she’d be gone before anyone knew it. Off to Paris. On her own. That was the last thing she thought before her mind shut down — and then she finally fell into a deep, troubled sleep dense with nightmares. </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. In My Dreams — Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, comrades! </p><p>I've been away a few weeks and I feel I owe you an explanation. XD </p><p>See -- I have actually been writing for Black Tea for Two this whole time. I just ended up generating lots of content, and I wanted to pack it all into one single chapter. The resulting 40-page-long thing was a bit unwieldy, so I decided to break it up into two or three smaller chapters.   </p><p>And, behold! This happened. In My Dreams - Part 1 is finally here! </p><p>And since Part 2 is already mostly finished, I feel rather hopeful that I can publish that next Friday. :) Just one week from now. </p><p>And now: an announcement. I'd like to build a modest little webpage you can consult if you want to know when exactly the next update will come out, and how my writing is progressing. That'll give you more information than just visiting AO3 and finding that nothing's changed yet! So I'll be putting that together over the next few days. I look forward to sharing the URL with you when it's done. :)</p><p>Next: a warning. I did my best to properly revise and edit this chapter, but I'm so sleep-deprived that I can't even type right! So I apologize for any typos or errors you might find!</p><p>Lastly: I'll be responding to your comments from chapter 9 soon, now that the new update is out of the way. :) Prepare yourself to get an extremely belated reply from me soon. XD</p><p>All righty! Enjoy the chapter and I'll see you on the next one! Stay safe!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="chapter-wrapper"><hr/><p>The distant clock tower chimed five-o-clock in the morning as Anya left the Yusupov Palace. </p><p>Last night’s snowfall had left a thick layer of fresh snow everywhere. The streets and the sidewalk, the buildings and trees, and even the street lights’ thin, coiling arms — wherever she looked, everything had a glittering white cap on top of it. Her footsteps were the first to mar the smooth blanket of snow that stretched endlessly in front of her as she briskly strode along the dimly lit, empty sidewalk. </p><p>She never liked to see the city like this, all cloaked in white. To her, the sight of fresh snow meant that somebody, somewhere, had passed away overnight. </p><p>Every snowfall had its death toll among her fellow vagabonds — people who, like her, had to find food and shelter for themselves one day at a time. Many of them simply froze to death before the sun could rise — the children, usually, and the elderly — and anybody else who was just too ill or too hungry or too drunk to keep going. That was the first wave of deaths. Then, some of those who had technically survived the night would catch a deadly, murderous cough the day after — and that’d be the end of the line for them.</p><p>As Anya strode forward — her broom by her side — she hurriedly recited her morning prayers under her breath. This time, she prayed for everyone who hadn’t made it through the night. If they had lived their lives right, then she could hope that they were happy and at peace now, finally. They’d never go hungry again. </p><p>She also prayed that she herself wouldn’t die today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after. That would be <i>so</i> frustrating — to have come this far! Only to die <i>fifteen days away</i> from getting her passport to Paris. How awful and depressing! She really hoped that wouldn’t happen.</p><p>Speaking of which… </p><p>She wondered where Plisetsky’s bodyguards-slash-hitmen might be now. </p><p>More importantly — she wondered if they were going to try to finish her off today. They might. Or then again — maybe they were going to bide their time and wait. In hopes they’d get her when she was least expecting them, again. </p><p>Her gut tightened with a twinge of anxiety. Warily, she turned and swept her eyes across the empty avenue. But, all around her, there was nothing but snow.</p><p>She walked faster. </p><p>At this point, she realized she wasn’t sure where she was going. When she’d started awake this morning, the <i>one</i> thing on her mind had been the need to get away from Vlad and Dmitry. And, usually, she didn’t mind wandering around in the dark of dawn by herself. Except—</p><p>Well — except right now she felt… not completely like her normal self. Maybe she was a little anxious. A little edgy. A little scared.</p><p>No one had ever stalked her as viciously as <i>this</i> before. Last night, things had descended to a whole new level of horror. The aching bruises on her face had suddenly made this so painfully <i>real</i>. </p><p>Now she knew just how cruelly they were going to tear her apart if she ever let them get their hands on her again. </p><p>She probably shouldn’t be too anxious about this, though. It was nothing to be scared of — <i>definitely</i>, nothing to cry about — so she gulped down the knot in her throat and walked on, clenching her fist around her broom. Adjusting Gleb’s hat on her head for strength.</p><p>She could dodge Plisetsky’s men for fifteen more days. Just fifteen days — that was it. And then she’d be on her way to Paris… </p><p>If only she could figure out a way to pay for the train ticket. </p><p>But, for now, she just didn’t want to be out here by herself. She could use a little company. And a little safety. Being indoors — someplace warm and familiar — that would be nice.</p><p>And — she knew where she was now. </p><p>All on their own, her footsteps had led her all the way to the Nevsky Prospekt. She stopped at the intersection between her sidestreet and the avenue, pondering which way to go. </p><p>If she turned to the right, she’d just have to go a little ways longer — and then she’d get to the headquarters of the Cheka. </p><p>It was just a stray thought that came to her. Gleb had told her where the place was as he’d walked her to her new workplace yesterday. Obviously, he wouldn’t be there right now — but, soon… In just a couple hours…</p><p>She shot down the idea before it could start picking up steam. </p><p>Gleb was the one person she <i>didn’t</i> want to be with now. She didn’t want him to see her like this. ’Cause if he did, he would start asking questions. And then she’d be in trouble. </p><p>So she made up her mind — and made her way toward Dominik’s stolovaya. </p><p>In just a minute, she was standing in front of that salmon storefront with the twin doors. Up above, the rising sun was only just starting to tinge the sky with shy streaks of violet. She’d thought she’d have to wait outside a bit — it was nice to see light pouring out of the windows this early. Eagerly, she skipped up the steps and went inside. </p><p>She found there was no one in the dining area. Or in the lunchroom. The kitchen, too, was empty — though all the lights were lit. With all the stoves off, it was only just a little bit warmer in here than outside. </p><p>“Uh… Hello?” she called. </p><p>Her voice bounced off the walls of the empty, quiet room. For a moment, there was nothing but silence.</p><p>And, then — a door opened at the back of the kitchen. And Dominik was peering at her curiously from across the room. </p><p>“Hmm? Oh — it’s you!” He grinned, beckoning for her to come nearer. His voice was a blend of surprise and glee. “The pretty, sweet, wonderful Anyunka! Come here, dolly — turns out I needed someone <i>just like you</i> to rescue me <i>right now</i>. Come, come!”</p><p>And he disappeared back into the room. Anya hurried to put away her broom and her hat, and then she joined him in a small, dark storeroom crammed with burlap sacks. The sacks’ contents — beans, rice, lentils, potatoes, beet — were printed in bold lettering on the coarse fabric. Dominik had just hoisted one of them onto his shoulder. It looked quite large and bulky.</p><p>“Y’know, it’s just the luckiest thing you’re here early,” he said. “Maybe a bit <i>too</i> early. I mean, they say the earliest bird catches the worm, but… Anyway — you pick up one of those tiny ones over there and come with me.” </p><p>He patiently waited as she bent down to do just that. The sack was almost as heavy as she was — and her wrists felt horribly weak and bloated ever since Dmitry had crushed them under his knees. Dominik laughed as she huffed and puffed, vainly trying to lift the thing. </p><p>“If it’s too big for your cute little arms, you can always drag it,” he offered.</p><p>“I’m not cute,” Anya grunted. Giving up, she crouched behind the sack to push it wherever he wanted to go. “And I’m not pretty. Or sweet. Or anything like that.” </p><p>“So — you’re telling me you’re ugly and bitter? Aww, Nyenka, that’s not true! Don’t say that!” Grinning, he gestured for her to come after him. “Come on — we gotta get all these beans sorted and rinsed — quick, quick, quick.” </p><p>He led her to a worktable in a corner of the kitchen. Despite his short stature — he was a little bit taller than her, but not by much — he carried his sack like it was light as a pillow. Anya puffed and huffed along after him with her own bag — trying not to pay attention to the pressure in her wrists. </p><p>“All right,” Dominik was saying, “let’s do this like the Cheka’s gonna come after us if it’s not finished in twenty minutes.” He was carefully emptying the beans on the table. “There’s a <i>ton</i> of stuff we need to get done before opening time — this isn’t even the beginning—”</p><p>And then he turned to look at her. </p><p>All of a sudden he went quiet. His grip weakened, and a cascade of brown beans spilled onto the floor as the sack fell heavily on the table. </p><p>Dominik didn’t even seem to notice. His wide-eyed stare was glued to her face. </p><p>“Anya,” he mumbled. “<i>What in the world</i> happened to you?” </p><p>She bit her lip. Her hand drifted up to hide her swollen cheek. “Does it look <i>that</i> bad?”</p><p>“Like someone literally slapped your face off.” He scowled at the mess he’d made on the floor. “Ah, fuck it. Come with me, Nyechka. <i>Look</i>—” </p><p>He hastily led her into his office. In the full-body mirror on the wall, Anya saw herself for the first time in a long while — and her first reaction was to shrink back in horror. A big, nasty, black-purplish bruise was spread all across the right side of her face, from the corner of her lips to her temple. And there was another one — just as black and just as ugly — on her neck; that must’ve been from the stranglehold. Her face was thoroughly caked in grime and ash — because she’d spend the night at the palace — of course. And if she’d thought her hair was matted past the point of no return before — right now it looked like she’d gone and swiped a scarecrow’s straw wig right off its head.</p><p>“I’m a mess,” she murmured, gawking at herself in morbid fascination.</p><p>“You are,” Dominik said bluntly. </p><p>His reflection stood behind her, a little to the side. His pristinely ironed bone white uniform contrasted starkly with her own ragged skirt and her oversized coat. His sleeves were rolled back, and his arms were folded across his chest. He frowned as his eyes lingered on mirror-Anya’s face.</p><p>“Well,” he sighed, “that sure ain’t going away on its own anytime soon. We have to do something about it. Hold on—”</p><p>Anya spun around — she grasped his arm to stop him as he turned to leave. “No, wait! It’s fine — let’s leave it alone and get back to work! I don’t want to… I’ll screw up your timing—”</p><p>Dominik rolled his eyes. “Girl — shut up. Sit down. Be back in a minute.”</p><p>He disappeared out the door before she could get another word in. </p><p>Anya sighed.</p><p>She sat down on a little wooden stool by the mirror. She waited. </p><p>Just as quickly, Dominik strode back in with a white bundle in his hand. </p><p>“All right—” He handed her the thing — it was a bag of frozen peas, rolled up in a towel. “Press that to your face — not too hard — for a good ten minutes. That should help, I think. A little bit.”</p><p>She reluctantly did as he instructed. She hissed in pain as the cold fabric touched her skin. “Ow!” </p><p>“Yeah,” he said, wincing. “That’s going to hurt pretty bad today. Don’t stop pressing, though — that’ll help it heal a little faster.” </p><p>She closed her eyes and tried to resist the urge to remove the cloth from her cheek. </p><p>On the upside, it <i>was</i> a little bit comforting to be doing this with him right now. It was a nice change from dealing with people who either wanted her dead or were just trying to use her in some way. </p><p>She smiled up at him gratefully. “Thank you, Dominik.”</p><p>“Heh.” He smiled back — a broad, frank, lopsided smile. “Anytime.” </p><p>He sat down on the floor next to her, propping up his forearms on his knees. “Anyhow — there’s just one thing I need to know right now. You <i>are</i> going to tell Gleb somebody beat you to a pulp last night, aren’t you?”</p><p>His eyes drifted briefly to the purple blotch on her neck. Anya’s fingers absently brushed against her blackened, tender skin. It hurt. </p><p>She looked down at the speckled tiling on the floor. “Maybe.” </p><p>She chanced a guilty glance at Dominik — just in time to see him narrow his eyes. </p><p>“Lies!” he said. “You’re not gonna tell him anything! For shame, Nyechka!”</p><p>“He doesn’t need to know!” Anya said defensively. </p><p>“He doesn’t?” he questioned.</p><p>“It’s none of his business anyway.” </p><p>“It’s not?” </p><p>“And by the time he comes to visit, I’ll be practically back to normal,” she said decisively. “No trace I ever looked like…” She tried to find a proper comparison. “Like I took on a whole Bolshevik batallion all by myself.”</p><p>Dominik scowled. “Watch your mouth, dolly. <i>I’m</i> a Bolshevik.”</p><p>“Well, most Bolsheviks are scumbags,” Anya muttered bitterly. “I’ve gotten all kinds of nasty propositions from officers who think they own everything now. Think they can do whatever they want to whomever they like.” She miserably dabbed at her face with the towel. “That’s why I look like <i>this</i> right now. I always say ‘no’. They can never just accept that and leave me alone.”</p><p>In one second, Dominik’s expression went from indignation to shock to sympathy to shame. He lowered his eyes and was quiet for a long moment. </p><p>“I’m so sorry, Nyusha,” he said softly. “I didn’t know.”</p><p>“Don’t be sorry,” Anya sighed. “What did <i>you</i> do? You didn’t do anything. Other than trying to make things a little better.” She touched her hand to his elbow in thanks. “You’re not bad, Dominik. You’re decent.”</p><p>“<i>Decent?</i>” he said in mock outrage. “That is <i>all I get</i>? When are you going to give me my very first thank-you hug — what do I have to do?”</p><p>Anya grinned. Now he was back in his normal, flippant mood.</p><p>“You can’t earn one,” she said. “I don’t give hugs.” </p><p>“Lies, again! You hugged Gleb. I saw!”</p><p>She could feel her cheeks warming up. “That was different.”</p><p>“<i>How</i>?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I don’t understand it, either,” she confessed — her face was probably turning red. “Gleb is just that. Different. He’s the one exception.”</p><p>“Mm.” Dominik shook his head in playful reproach. “So I’m the one you vent to, and he’s the one you hug? I don’t know — I can’t help but feel like I’m getting the short end of the stick here.”</p><p>Anya let out a giggle — and that triggered a jolt of pain from her horribly broken face. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “And don’t make me laugh! It hurts.”</p><p>“Aw, sorry.” He reached out and patted her hair fondly. “In all seriousness, I’m glad Gleb found you. He can really make things better for you, you know? If I were you, I’d just go straight to him and tell him what happened.”</p><p>“No,” she said firmly. Then, suddenly suspicious of him, she added: “And <i>you’re</i> not allowed to tell him, either.” </p><p>Dominik looked like she’d just read his mind. “I’m not?”</p><p>“Not <i>one</i> word.” She removed the towel from her face to glare at him with both eyes. “I know you have a history of snitching things to the Cheka—”</p><p>“Yeah, but only when he asks me to—!”</p><p>“And if you tell him I’m in trouble with someone in the government, he’s just going to have to arrest me. ’Cause that’s what Gleb does! That’s his job.”</p><p>“That’s <i>just</i> the thing about him, though! He <i>won’t</i>—”</p><p>“And then you’ll be my enemy <i>forever</i>,” she threatened. “You have to <i>solemnly swear</i> you won’t do it. Swear it, Dominik!” </p><p>“But — Anyusha!” he pleaded. “What I’m <i>trying</i> to—”</p><p>“Swear it!”</p><p>Finally, he heaved a deep sigh of frustration. “<i>Fine</i>. I swear it.” </p><p>“Okay.” She went back to dabbing at her eye, satisfied. “Good.”</p><p>Suddenly, they could hear people walking around in the kitchen. Then, surprised voices — Anya’s workmates, wondering at the beans strewn all over the floor. </p><p>Dominik glanced in the direction of the sound. “Ah, drat. Now they’re starting to trickle in; that means the day is about to start. And I haven’t gotten anything done.” He laughed, as if in denial, as he got to his feet. “Well, <i>this</i> should be fun.”</p><p>Anya got up, too. “I’ll help.”</p><p>“No, you won’t.”</p><p>“Yes, I will.”</p><p>“Nyusha, you’re all banged up!” he protested. “Listen — you know I <i>love</i> to have you here — but you need to rest and take the day off—”</p><p>“Okay.” She shoved the towel and peas in his hands, and headed for the door. “So I’ll rest helping. I’ll work a double shift just for fun.”</p><p>“<i>Gaah!</i>” There was a scowl in his voice as he followed her out into the lunchroom. “You— <i>stubborn</i> thing! All right, <i>fine</i>, but just hold on a moment — come back here!”</p><p>She stopped and let him catch up to her. She crossed her arms. “What?”</p><p>“I just want to… There’s one thing you need to know about Gleb.” He beckoned for her to follow him; he led her to the cabinets on the side of the room and knelt down to get her uniform. “I mean — sure, he’s a chekist. Everyone in Russia is terrified of chekists. But you gotta learn to look closer — see the man behind the uniform. He’s not some kind of… heartless…” He shook his head as he sifted through the neatly folded stacks of clothes. “Look — if he got you here, he’ll take you anywhere you need to be, so to speak. You shouldn’t be scared to open up your heart to him, Nyurasha.” He finally pulled out her dress from the pile and passed it to her. “Just think about that. All right?” </p><p>She took the dress; unfurled it. And she sighed happily. So clean and soft! So new. “All right.”</p><p>“Bah — she’s not listening,” Dominik sighed as he straightened up. “Well, you go clean up and put that thing on. If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen. Going insane while the clock ticks and my workers keep running around like headless hens.” </p><p>Then, he strode away and out through the doorway. </p><p>As Anya made her way to the bathroom with the soft, white bundle in her hands, she felt rather pleased with herself that she’d managed to stonewall him. Yes, she’d definitely been listening. She was just too proud to admit he’d actually given her something to think about. </p><p>‘<i>If he got you here, he’ll take you wherever you need to be.</i>’ Dominik’s last few words kept bouncing around and around in her head. </p><p>For one second, she thought of how nice it’d be if she <i>didn’t</i> have to go see Dmitry again in fifteen days. </p><p>Because when she did, he’d just keep on trying to brainwash her into thinking she was his fake little Anastasia — trying to get her tangled up in his schemes. No, thank you! What an absurd, weird, <i>disturbing</i> thing that’d been. But that was <i>her</i> fault for buddying up to conmen in the first place. </p><p>She never wanted to hear the Princess’s name again. </p><p>‘<i>Wherever you need to be,</i>’ Dominik kept saying in her mind.</p><p>Probably not. </p><p>Still, as she washed herself and got into her uniform — being <i>very</i> careful not to tear or stretch it — she let herself wonder what things would look like if it was Gleb helping her get out of Russia instead of Dmitry. In a completely different universe. Another world.</p><p>She couldn’t help but wish Paris was included in that ‘wherever’. </p>
<hr/><p>1:30 PM.</p><p>Sometimes Gleb wondered if it was an absolute necessity for the clock to screech every fifteen minutes. </p><p>The simultaneous ringing of the phone made the interruption a tad more irritating. For the nth time that day, he leaned away from his typewriter and picked up the receiver. </p><p>“Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov,” he droned. </p><p>“I know who you are. That’s why I just dialed you, Vaganov,” the man on the other end said sharply.</p><p>Oh. Well, <i>this</i> must be… Commissioner Gorlinsky? There seemed to be a peculiar ring to his voice today, but Gleb didn’t dare to question why. In an instant, he’d sat up straight as a plank. His palms had begun to break into a cold sweat. </p><p>“What progress have you made on the Anastasia rumors?” his superior demanded. “I want a full status report. And make it quick.”</p><p>Gleb inhaled deeply, organizing the relevant information in his head. “Yes, Sir. I have—”</p><p>“Unacceptable!” the man positively bellowed into the speaker. “<i>Disgraceful!</i> I should have you stripped of your rank, comrade! If you don’t want me to report you to Moscow, get over here this minute and massage my feet. My doctor said that is <i>just</i> the treatment for my latest fungus. And bring me some of Comrade Dominik’s hot borscht as well! Why, it’s so delicious, it makes me wanna curl up <i>tight</i> on the floor and cry while I think about my mama—”</p><p>Gleb hung up. </p><p>He exhaled a deep, prolonged, exasperated sigh. Quickly, he stood up and locked the door — lest someone walk in on him while his face was flushed scarlet with embarrassment, frustration, and other such emotions. </p><p>The phone rang again. </p><p>Tapping his nails on the desk impatiently, he took the call once more, depite his better judgment. </p><p>“<i>Yes</i>,” he muttered. “What do you want, Dominik?”</p><p>“Hey, Gleb!” On the other side, his peer was making some effort to stifle his laughter. “How’ve the higher-ups been treatin’ ya?”</p><p>“I had truly hoped you’d mature past this eventually.”</p><p>“Are you kidding? You fall for it every time — it’s priceless! Never gets old.” </p><p>“Is there a reason for you to be pestering me at work?” Gleb asked. “Or is this just a senseless act of sabotage?” Then, as he thought of the young woman he’d decided to court and protect, he smiled and leaned against his desk. “How’s Anya?”</p><p>“Hah. I <i>knew</i> you’d ask,” Dominik said smugly. “You’ve been thinking about her all day long, I bet.”</p><p>Gleb laughed — it’d be rather pointless to pretend otherwise. “Perhaps I have.”</p><p>“You know, you have <i>horrible</i> taste in women,” Dominik asserted. “But this one I do approve of. I can see you’re <i>finally</i> ready to do what the birds and the bees do, my son. I think your chances with her are looking pretty good, too! She was asking me about you yesterday.” </p><p>“She was?” The temptation to pry was irresistible. “What did she say?”</p><p>“She wanted to see you again soon,” Dominik said. “Asked me if you stop by often. I told her you’re an ungrateful bastard and you never come.” </p><p>Gleb gripped the phone tighter. “You didn’t.”</p><p>“I did. Ask her. You know me — I’m an honest man. Nothing but words of truth tumbling out of my mouth.”</p><p>It was a good thing his comrade was approximately half a mile away. Otherwise, Gleb might’ve expressed his vexation in some way he would have regretted later. </p><p>“Anyhow — Anyechka is doing fine,” Dominik said. “<i>Mostly</i> fine. You should see her running around and getting all busy — dishing out those salads like it’s nobody’s business! She was <i>born</i> for this. She’s—”</p><p>“Yes, but — stop,” Gleb said. “She is <i>mostly</i> fine?”</p><p>“Yeah. <i>Mostly</i>.” There was a trace of uncertainty in Dominik’s tone. “I’d say about three-quarters fine. Maybe two thirds. <i>Roughly</i> 68% fine.”</p><p>“But why?” Suddenly, Gleb was suspicious. “Did <i>you</i>—?”</p><p>“What — <i>I</i> didn’t do anything!” Dominik said, indignant. “What d’you take me for — a slave driver? <i>Is this the thanks I get</i>—?”</p><p>“All right — I take that back! I’m sorry.” He was trying to subdue his slowly increasing anxiety. “Will you <i>please</i> just tell me what is wrong with her?” </p><p>“No.”</p><p>Gleb had to blink at that. </p><p>“What do you mean, ‘no’?” he demanded.</p><p>Dominik paused a moment in hesitation. “See, I’m not supposed to say. I <i>solemnly swore</i> I wouldn’t tell you what happened to her last night —so I’m not telling. But, you know, I think the poor girl is stuck in some nasty doo-doo — and she didn’t say I couldn’t just <i>ask</i> you to come check on her, so here I am. Honestly, I don’t know what she’s thinking! You were gonna come in a few days anyway, and then you’d <i>see</i> her — and you’d <i>know</i>. I mean — with bruises like <i>that</i>—”</p><p>Gleb hung up. </p><p>Not bothering to throw on his coat, he set off for the stolovaya at a brisk pace. </p><p>Even in the direst of circumstances, he never was one to panic. This was one lasting effect his years in the army had had on him. Still, his concern for Anya seemed to lengthen his stride this time, remarkably shortening the trip. </p><p>Evidently, the only way to guarantee the girl’s safety beyond a shadow of doubt was to handcuff her to himself. Otherwise, the moment he let her out of his sight, she would go and get herself into some kind of disastrous misfortune. And this was simply the most recent one in the queue.</p><p>It would appear she had been assaulted overnight. </p><p>He inwardly cursed Dominik for his frivolous refusal to cooperate — on a matter as direly urgent as <i>this</i>. </p><p>As Gleb stalked into the stolovaya’s crowded dining area, he instantly knew who among the people packed in the small space had something to hide. They shot him glances of sheer terror, as if they feared he had come specifically to arrest them. They were, of course, perfectly irrelevant to him. He strode into the kitchen and his eyes scanned the alarmed faces around him, searching for Anya.</p><p>He finally found her in Dominik’s office. There she was, impatiently sitting on the stool by the mirror. Dominik himself was also there, pacing back and forth across the room and speaking to her.</p><p>What exactly their conversation was about, Gleb would never know. For one second, all he could perceive were Anya’s terrible bruises: deep purple-black blotches covering her cheek, her forehead, her eye, her neck. </p><p>She had been attacked with tremendous malice.</p><p>Silence descended upon the room. Dominik was observing him neutrally. Anya herself looked quite wide-eyed and speechless.</p><p>“Gleb?” she said, dumbfounded. </p><p>He noticed that his breathing was slightly uneven from the walk. Inhaling deeply, he subdued his agitation and met her gaze evenly.</p><p>At least now he knew what the scope of the problem was. Anya showed no signs of distress, and she was not in immediate danger. Potentially <i>life-threatening</i> danger, yes. Immediate, no. </p><p>“Anya,” he greeted her with a polite nod. “It’s good to see you.”</p><p>“Uh-huh. But — what—?” Before she could finish the question, her eyes narrowed with understanding. She turned her irate gaze on Dominik. “<i>You.</i>”</p><p>Dominik laughed nervously. “Me?” </p><p>“<i>You!</i>” She sprang to her feet; in one second, she had backed him against the wall, her hands seizing fistfuls of his uniform’s jacket. “You <i>swore</i> you wouldn’t do it— you liar, you <i>traitor</i>! I <i>trusted</i> you!”</p><p>“Anyechka — please!” he begged, raising his hands in surrender. “I only did it because I had to! If it makes you feel better, I kept my oath to you, <i>strictly speaking</i>—”</p><p>“Shut up,” she said in a growl-like whisper. “You’re the <i>worst</i>, Dominik! I’m <i>never</i> going to talk to you <i>again</i>!”</p><p>Squirming in her ferocious grip, Dominik cast a desperate glance at Gleb. “Help! Police!” </p><p>Gleb suppressed a groan of irritation at the spectacular immaturity of this pair. </p><p>Sauntering over to them, he gently laid his hand on Anya’s. He experienced a flutter of anguish as he noticed the bruises on both her wrists.</p><p>“Anya,” he said calmly. “Let go of him, please.” </p><p>How he wished he knew what was happening in her mind. There was something akin to fear in her gaze as her eyes darted to meet his. </p><p>She gave Dominik one last, vicious shove against the wall. Then, she relinquished her grasp on his uniform and stepped back. Now she had her arms folded, and her wrathful stare was directed at the floor. </p><p>Groaning in pain, Dominik was carefully rubbing at the back of his head. “<i>Owww</i>…”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Gleb said. He felt the need to apologize on her behalf.</p><p>“I’m not,” Anya muttered. “He deserved that.”</p><p>“She has a bit of wildcat in her,” Dominik noted, inspecting his hand to see if there was blood on it.</p><p>“She’s a tigress,” Gleb said. He then spotted a chance to improve Anya’s frame of mind a little, and he seized it eagerly. He smoothed her hair and tucked a wayward golden strand behind her ear. “Every bit as fierce as she is beautiful.”</p><p>It worked. She did not answer, but her willful glare lost its edge. Flushing pink, now she seemed unsure how to respond. </p><p>Nothing quells a woman’s anger quite as effectively as a little gentleness and warmth. His own mother had advised him so, long ago. As ever, she’d been quite correct.</p><p>“I do hope you can forgive my friend, Anya,” Gleb continued. “He is an idiot and can’t help sabotaging everything he touches. But he means well.”</p><p>“Come again?” Dominik said, annoyed. “I’m right here, you know.”</p><p>But Gleb had no time for the blonde’s antics. He was studying Anya’s reaction to his relentless cajoling. </p><p>He was glad to see her grin despite herself at his remark. </p><p>“Ah, there it is!” he said. “That smile again. I missed seeing it.” </p><p>Now he must risk asking for a proper conversation. </p><p>“Anya — I have to admit I’m a bit concerned about you as well,” he began. “I assure you I come in peace. I’d simply like to speak to you for a moment. Would you mind taking a little stroll with me?”</p><p>Not one to be prevailed upon easily, Anya pursed her lips, pondering. </p><p>Smiling, he clasped his hands behind his back to keep himself from fidgeting as he awaited her answer.</p><p>“Of course — you’re free to refuse,” he added, as her silence lengthened. “But I’d hate to miss this chance to spend a while in your company. If you say yes, I’ll—” He struggled to think of some way to make this sound more appealing. “I’ll do whatever you please once we’ve dealt with a few simple questions. How about it, Anya?”</p><p>Fortunately, she seemed a little more interested now. </p><p>“Really?” she asked curiously. “Whatever I want?”</p><p>“Anything at all,” he affirmed. </p><p>In fact, now he was a little curious as well. Perhaps there was something she’d been meaning to ask of him — and she’d been a little too shy to speak up about it until now. </p><p>Well, he’d be only too happy to give her whatever she wanted.</p><p>“Okay,” Anya said finally. “Um…” </p><p>She glanced at Dominik. He was coolly observing the scene as he leaned against the wall.</p><p>“So… Do you mind if I… disappear for a while?” she asked him sheepishly. “It won’t take too long! And then I’ll get right back to work.” </p><p>“Hmm.” The blond gave her a little smirk. “Well, I don’t know. I mean, you <i>have</i> been kind of mean to me — and today’s the busiest day of the week! I gotta tell ya, I’m feeling tempted to say no—”</p><p>“Dominik,” Gleb warned. </p><p>“But, yes!” Dominik said at once. “Actually, <i>this</i> is what I’ve been trying to get you to do this whole time. Get out of here, you crazy, violent blockheads.” </p><p>Having said this, he left the office. He paused at the doorway to shoot a glance at Anya over his shoulder.</p><p>“But I <i>will</i> demand a hug when you get back, Nyetoshka,” he said to her. “’Cause you owe me. <i>Big-time</i>. Now go and make my sacrifice worth it.”</p><p>Then, Gleb finally found himself alone with Anya. </p><p>He couldn’t help scowling down at her. “So you hug Dominik, too, now.” </p><p>She smiled. “No. Just you.”</p><p>“Ah! Is that so?” </p><p>Anya shrugged. “Well — you’re special. Don’t ask me how. You just <i>are</i>.” </p><p>These words were rather satisfying to hear. He spread open his arms, inviting her to hug him. Contentment and possessiveness seized hold of his heart in equal parts when she did. </p><p>What a senseless and unreasonable thing, to desire that he be the one and only male ever to hold her in his arms — at least, as far as her memory could reach. Oh, it was madness — absolute madness. But he wanted it zealously. </p><p>“Then you should have come straight to me this morning, Anya. Not him,” he reproached her quietly. “Why would you think you’d be safer with Dominik than with me?” </p><p>Perhaps he should have abstained from saying this. Anya tensed and then withdrew, stepping away from him. </p><p>She averted her gaze in obstinate silence. </p><p>“Well — come on,” Gleb sighed. Laying a hand on her lower back, he ushered her toward the exit. “A little fresh air might make things better… Clear away some of the stress you’ve been through these past few hours.”</p><p>He fervently hoped he could get to the root of her distress soon. Anya was carrying some dreadful burden in her heart — and he had a feeling that he must do something about it soon. Otherwise, the heart-breaking injuries that now marred her face might soon become a mere prelude to something worse. </p><p>After all, Gleb had only just found her. He was not going to lose her to the sharks that lurked about in the alleyways of Leningrad.</p></div>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. In My Dreams — Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, comrades! Here it is. Thank you all for your patience! This story wouldn't exist at all without all your love and support. The third and final part of the "In My Dreams" chapter series will be coming out (hopefully XD) some two weeks from now.</p><p>An update on a previous announcement: the design for the story status-update webpage is done. :) Now I just gotta actually code it into being. </p><p>Okie, enjoy the show, everyone!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="chapter-wrapper"><hr/><p>Anya’s unease did not show signs of improvement over the next quarter of an hour. </p><p>Briefly, Gleb had considered taking her to that same tea shop where they’d had that first, life-altering conversation on the day he’d met her. But, on second thought, it seemed to him that the noise and bustle of the shop might not do much to mitigate her anxiety. Thus, he ultimately chose to take her to his second-favorite spot in Leningrad — that one little stone bridge overlooking the Neva — where he could converse with her in a considerably more private setting. </p><p>So he sat down with her on the bridge’s low stone parapet. The Neva stretched magnificently ahead of them, receding into the city’s distant skyline and singing its steadfast song of purling water, as it ever did. It was a breath-taking view, truly; he could sit on this very parapet for hours at a time, gazing on the river, when his mind was troubled. </p><p>Tough, at this time, he could not pay much attention to it. His mental energy was hyper-focused on the eerily quiet girl next to him — and the dreadful injuries she bore on her face and body. </p><p>“Does it hurt?” he asked her softly.</p><p>“Just a little.” She gingerly brought her fingers to her cheek. “It doesn’t bother me if I don’t smile. Or laugh. Or move around too much… or blink too hard.” </p><p>Gleb sighed.</p><p>“And is that all?” he continued, trying to maintain a neutral tone. “Or do you feel some other kind of discomfort? Does anything feel… off? Like perhaps it could be broken?”</p><p>“No. Well— maybe…” Her voice was tinted with a speck of worry. “My wrists…”</p><p>“May I see?” </p><p>With a little reluctance, she let him examine them. The black markings on both her wrists bore the exact same pattern: several kilograms of pressure had been applied to the spot where the bones of the forearm met those of the hand. Someone had tried to pin her down on the ground with his own body weight. </p><p>Gleb shoved aside the terrible mental image that this fact evoked. Willing himself to focus, he carefully probed and observed both her wrists for any signs of a fracture. Finding none, he then seized his chance to inspect how the cuts on her palms were faring. Not much progress had been made; a fresh layer of scabbing currently clung wetly to her skin. It seemed these wounds had last reopened about a half-hour ago. </p><p>Anya’s hemophilia — of course. It was keeping the injuries from scarring as they should.</p><p>“Luckily, it seems neither wrist is broken,” he said. “But there <i>could</i> be some hidden damage to the tendons or ligaments. Perhaps I might take you to a hosp—”</p><p>“Don’t you dare!” She snatched her hands out of his grip. “I’ll fight back! I’ll run away.”</p><p>“All right, very well,” Gleb sighed. (The girl’s petulance could surpass that of the most ill-bred eight-year-old.) “But if the pain doesn’t diminish in a week — then, we’ll just have to see who can run faster, Anya. I’ll carry you there kicking and screaming if I have to.”</p><p>Then, before she could protest, he grasped her chin and turned her head slightly so he could examine the injuries on her face and neck. Thankfully, the damage here had been limited to the bursting of blood vessels underneath her skin. She hadn’t sustained any facial fractures. </p><p>In other words, she had not been struck in the head with a blunt weapon. Only fists. </p><p>And then, she had somehow managed to break free from a stranglehold.</p><p>With a jerk of her head, Anya freed herself from his grasp. Propping his chin on twined hands, he frowned at the cobblestone beneath them, mulling on the unsettling facts he had just learned. </p><p>How could he have failed to protect her from an attack as vicious as this?</p><p>By what miracle had she survived this?</p><p>And, more importantly still—</p><p>“Who did this to you?” he asked.</p><p><i>‘Calmly,’</i> he reminded himself. <i>‘Calmly.’</i></p><p>He tried to relax the increasing tension in his shoulders. Remembered to unclench his jaw. </p><p>Still, she was reluctant to shed light on the matter. “Uh…”</p><p>“Your wounds—” He rose to his feet and began to pace back and forth. Calmness was proving difficult to conquer. “The cuts in your hands. Are they connected in any way at all with this assault?” </p><p>Again — hesitant silence. </p><p>But this time her reticence told him all he needed to know. </p><p>He breathed in deeply. He ran a hand through his hair. </p><p>His heart thundered as he crouched down and clasped her face in his hands. At last, he got her to lock eyes with him. </p><p>“You could’ve <i>died</i> last night, Anya!” he burst. “Do you <i>realize</i> this? You’re being stalked by someone who wants to <i>murder</i> you — every hour you live could be your last! And you planned on keeping this a secret <i>until it was too late</i>?” He had to turn away briefly as he supressed a spike of anger. “I <i>want</i> to help you. But not even I can protect you if you insist on putting yourself in danger!”</p><p>“Let go of me.” She, too, rose to her feet. “I don’t need <i>anybody</i> to protect me, Gleb!”</p><p>“Ah, you don’t,” he said caustically. </p><p>“I <i>told</i> you — it has <i>always</i> been like this for me!” she said. “I’m <i>used</i> to dealing with—”</p><p>“And do you <i>want</i> your life to continue this way?” Gleb snapped. “What will happen the next time your assailants come looking for you? Do you expect that you’ll be able to escape them again?” </p><p>She had no ready answer for this. Faltering, she gazed at him with wide, startled eyes.</p><p>He could hear his voice rising despite his efforts to control it. </p><p>“Just how much longer do you think you can survive like this, Anya?” he continued to question her, his tone clipped. “Blindly clinging to <i>nothing</i> but your own prideful self-sufficiency! Do you <i>truly</i> believe you can cheat death forever — <i>entirely</i> on your own?”</p><p>Still, she did not answer. <i>Could</i> not answer, it seemed. It would appear he had thrown her off-balance, and she was attempting to recover.</p><p>One second of tense silence. Anya cast a glance over her shoulder at the bridge behind her. For a moment, he dreaded she might truly run away. </p><p>And then she turned to him again. To his surprise and horror, her anger derailed suddenly, morphing into sorrow; tears began to gather in her eyes. This time, she was not able to fight them back. </p><p>She bowed her head and began to cry. </p><p>“Anya—” </p><p>But all words died on his lips. Closing the distance between them, he engulfed her in his arms in an effort to console her. And to beg for her forgiveness. </p><p>How could he have let her brashness deceive him? </p><p>So brave and defiant was she — so strong, and so self-willed — that he’d mistaken her bravado for genuine thoughtlessness.</p><p>Of <i>course</i> she knew how dire her situation was. Of course she was under tremendous mental and emotional distress. For the past few hours — or days, or weeks — she must have been tense as the string of a violin, teetering on the edge of a meltdown such as this. And he had only just given her the decisive final shove.</p><p>Her first reaction was to struggle against him; she was trying to push him away, but he refused to release her. He feared she would simply dash off like a wounded animal if he did — and, at this time, being alone out on the streets was simply not an option for her. So he kept her imprisoned in his embrace until she finally gave in and let him hold her.</p><p>She dissolved into deep, silent sobs. It was as if a dam in her heart had burst — as if a lifetime’s worth of accumulated suffering were washing over her. Her small, fragile frame quivered and shuddered in his arms.</p><p>“Anya, Anya,” was all he could say. “Anya. Don’t cry.”</p><p>He wasn’t very good at offering comfort. </p><p>Thankfully, she didn’t seem to mind his ineptitude. She wrapped her arms around him, and the hot wetness of her tears seeped through his uniform as she cried against his chest. He sighed and stroked her hair, and forlornly waited for her to regain her strength. </p><p>By degrees, her sobs quieted. And then, at last, they had subsided. She let go of him and took a step back, avoiding his gaze. He let his arms fall back to his sides. </p><p>Now her eyes and her nose were reddened from her weeping. She tried to wipe away her tears with the back of her fists. “<i>Ugh</i>.”</p><p>“Ah — here—” Gleb shoved his hand in his pocket to offer her a handkerchief. </p><p>She took it with an unexpected little giggle.</p><p>“These things—” She sniffled. “You always—”</p><p>“I always have one ready, yes.” He grinned — latching on to this prodigiously fast recovery. “One never knows when he’ll need them! <i>Preparedness</i> is what I’m all about.”</p><p>She laughed a little as she dried her face — very carefully. Trying to trigger as little pain as possible from her bruises. </p><p>Then, she reached for his hand and sat down on the parapet once more, pulling him down with her. </p><p>To his enormous relief, he found himself sitting next to her again, as though nothing had happened. </p><p>“I’m so sorry I just put you through all that,” Anya sighed. “I don’t <i>know</i> what happened. I just couldn’t <i>stop</i>. I—” She risked a shy, apologetic smile at him. “I don’t have a clue what I just cried about, Gleb.”</p><p>He tried to give her a reassuring chuckle. “It’s natural to weep in the face of overwhelming hardship, Anya. Everyone has their breaking point — even you.” He gave her hand an apologetic squeeze. “Still, I regret that I was the immediate trigger for it. I ask you to forgive me. I promise you I’ll atone for this somehow.”</p><p>Anya lowered her gaze to their twined fingers. He thought she’d withdraw her hand then — but she didn’t. He was hopeful that this meant he’d been absolved.</p><p>“It was that one thing you said,” she murmured after a moment. “It just got to me, I guess. It’s…” She pursed her lips, trying to find her words. “It’s something I’ve always been afraid of. I <i>don’t</i> want things to be like this forever! And sometimes, I think maybe this <i>is</i> as good as it’s going to get for me. But I know in my heart that’s not true! I just have to keep on—”</p><p>“Yes — but, Anya,” he interrupted her, “what makes you think you have to fight all your battles <i>alone</i>? Even if it quite literally <i>kills</i> you?” </p><p>Evidently, she’d never pondered this. </p><p>She looked at him, surprised. “Um…”</p><p>“Anya—” He lightly trailed a finger along her cheek — a brazen gesture, but he needed her to pay attention. “This is <i>exactly</i> what I wish you’d understand. You are <i>not</i> alone — not anymore; I’m here now, and I genuinely want to be a friend to you. If only you would <i>listen</i> — if you would <i>trust me</i> — well, then your life wouldn’t be in danger at this moment. And you’d have nothing to cry about.” </p><p>She didn’t answer. But it seemed (or at least, he hoped) that she was listening. </p><p>“Now—” He decided it was time to deal with the crux of this conversation. “Your attackers might make another attempt on your life soon — so we must act quickly. I need you to tell me everything you can about them. Were these men your former coworkers? Are they the reason you lost your job as a street sweeper, Anya?” </p><p>Once more, she was quiet — now she seemed more willing to cooperate, but she was carefully meditating her answer. Calculating what to say, what to withhold.  </p><p>“Please,” he pressed her — gently, “don’t censor yourself. Remember that you can tell me anything at all.”</p><p>“Anything,” she said quietly. “You said that yesterday, at that park. You really meant it, then?” </p><p>Gleb frowned. “Do you doubt I was being sincere with you?” </p><p>“Well — no. But, you’re…”</p><p>She was struggling a little to express herself. </p><p>But then her eyes flitted to the medals pinned on his chest. And he understood. </p><p>“I guarantee you — I pose no threat to you whatsoever,” he said at once. He laid his hand on her shoulder to emphasize the point. “My sole mission in life is to protect Russia from traitors and Tsarists — and you don’t fit in either category. Therefore, to you, I am harmless as an ox.”</p><p>Anya considered his words a second.</p><p>Then, once more, the music of her quiet giggles surprised him.</p><p>“What?” he asked. Her laughter made his lips curve upward. </p><p>“Nothing. Just…” She hesitated only an instant. “I think an ox is a perfect animal for you! You’re large and gentle, but… nobody wants to make you mad.”</p><p>“Ah.” He chuckled at the comparison, shaking his head. </p><p>If she was going to characterize him as an animal, perhaps a bear would’ve been his beast of choice. </p><p>Well, if it took being an ox to make her laugh, then he was prepared to embrace his fate as a bovine. </p><p>At least his efforts to dispel her doubts had borne fruit. </p><p>“So — actually, you kind of already guessed what this is about,” she began tentatively. “My old boss was a disgusting pervert. Always trying to get me to—” She turned her face away a second, keenly indignant. “Anyway, one day he decided he could feel me up and get away with it — and I practically smeared his brains on a doorsill. Now he hates me, so he sent his bodyguards after me to break my neck. And…” She shrugged. “There isn’t a whole lot more to tell. That’s all there is to it, really.”</p><p>“I see.” </p><p>He fixed his gaze on the Neva as he pondered this. </p><p>Yes, her situation was very much what he had suspected before. Except — significantly worse. </p><p>“I guess maybe I <i>should’ve</i> told you sooner,” Anya said quietly. “I’m sorry, Gleb. I didn’t mean to make you worry. It’s just — I had no idea what would happen — if—”</p><p>“I understand,” he assured her. Her strangely avoidant behavior was no longer a mystery. Everything was clear to him now.</p><p>Unfortunate as it was, Anya’s reluctance to confide in him had been well-founded. If her plight had come to the attention of any other officer, she would have been arrested, the same as her employer. The man, for his despicable misconduct — and she, for exercising violence against a government official. To the Federation’s Criminal Code, it didn’t matter that she had lashed out in self-defense. The law in Russia was as cold as Her winters — and this draconian harshness was, of course, necessary. </p><p>Except in Anya’s case. </p><p>Indeed — Gleb himself <i>was</i> the law in this city. And he knew Anya was not a criminal. She was a young girl who had no father, no brothers, and no husband — no one to watch over her and rescue her from the storm, so to speak. No one to hold her, safe and warm, the way her life ought to have been from the beginning. She was an orphaned woman-child adrift in the world. And, in these circumstances, her heart-breaking beauty was a curse to her more than a blessing. </p><p>Well, now she was here. Under his protection. </p><p>And, henceforth, anyone who had the gall to affront her was going to be swiftly put in front of a firing squad.</p><p>“I understand,” he sighed once more, wrapping his arm tightly around her shoulders. “Yes, we shall resolve this matter at once. Don’t worry. As long as you remain here in Leningrad, Anya, no one will ever lay a hand on you again. I promise you. I <i>swear</i> it.”</p><p>Her face lit up with her warmest smile. “Oh, Gleb. Thank you, really. But — you don’t have to—”</p><p>“There is one more thing I need to know,” he said. (Before she could start spewing nonsense again.) “This man. What is his name?”</p><p>“Plisetsky.” Unease flitted across her expression. “Boris Plisetsky. But — why? Are you going to arrest him?”</p><p>“And his subordinates. Yes, naturally.”</p><p>“And then what?” Her grip tightened on the edge of the parapet. “Will you… <i>shoot</i> them?”</p><p>To his dismay, she did not at all seem pleased with the idea. </p><p>“Would that upset you?” he probed carefully.</p><p>“I don’t want <i>anyone</i> to die because of me!”</p><p>“And it won’t be <i>you</i> who killed them,” he tried to appease her. “Capital punishment isn’t murder — it’s—”</p><p>“It’s all the same to me,” she asserted, her brows furrowed, her jaw set. “Killing is killing.”</p><p>“But what do their lives matter to you?” he questioned her. “These are <i>worms</i>, Anya, not men! What if I want to make them <i>pay</i> for what they’ve done — or <i>tried to do</i>?” </p><p>His hand clenched on her shoulder as his anger stirred again. </p><p>He took in a deep, calming breath. </p><p>“Please,” he said civilly (or, as civilly as possible). “They’re worth <i>nothing</i>. They belong in a ditch on the outskirts of this city. I beg you, Anya — let me crush them.”</p><p>“<i>No</i>,” she said. “That makes it even worse. You can’t just go and get people killed out of <i>revenge</i>, Gleb. That’s not right!” </p><p>He scowled at her, quite frustrated with her senseless scruples. He began concocting an argument to knock them down— </p><p>Reaching up, she let her hand rest on his. </p><p>“Just… throw them in jail,” Anya commanded gently. “Lock them all up for a million years — and that’ll teach them.” She paused. “But — I don’t <i>literally</i> mean a million years! You can’t do that, either! I meant—”</p><p>Gleb laughed dryly. Indeed, life imprisonment had also been an option until now.</p><p>“You are very merciful, Anya,” he said. “Even though they’d kill you without remorse if they could right now.”</p><p>She shrugged, undaunted. “Well, I mean them no harm. I know they’re a bunch of pigs. That doesn’t mean I’m going to roll in the mud with them.” </p><p>Her grasp on his hand tightened; she glared into his eyes. </p><p>“And the same goes for you,” she said fiercely. “I don’t want <i>you</i> to stoop to their level, either. So — if you want me to trust you, Gleb… <i>No killing</i>. Got that?”</p><p>She stared him down with such intensity it was easy to forget that she was the street urchin here; and he, the former general turned bureaucrat.</p><p>If she’d been his superior during the war, he would’ve obeyed her with absolute confidence in her authority. </p><p>“Yes, ma’am,” he sighed finally. “Then their lives will be spared, if that’ll make you happy.”</p><p>Anya smiled. “It does. Thank you.”</p><p>And then she pressed a kiss to his cheek. </p><p>The gesture caught him entirely off-guard; in an instant, his heart was galloping. She laughed at him in mischievous delight — his face must be glowing like a pile of embers. </p><p>“Anya.” He shook his head in disapproval. His mouth was curving into a doltish smile he couldn’t quite wipe off.</p><p>“Sorry,” she giggled. “I couldn’t help it! I just had to.” </p><p>Oh, how she loved to make him suffer.</p><p>Then a brief spell of silence settled between them. Though she had his full attention, she was now gazing quietly upon the river. She seemed pensive.</p><p>“One rouble for your thoughts, comrade,” Gleb inquired.</p><p>“Oh — it’s nothing that interesting. Right now I’m just thinking… I’m kind of wishing I’d known from the start…” </p><p>She paused, struggling to find the words she wanted. </p><p>“This is all so <i>new</i> to me, Gleb,” she tried. “I… don’t get it. I don’t know why you’re this serious about looking out for me… Why you even <i>care</i> this much. And… I never knew what it was like to—”</p><p>Her gaze dipped downward. She burst into another fit of giggling. </p><p>“To <i>totally</i> ruin somebody’s uniform like that! <i>Look</i> — now you’ve got my snot smeared all over you! I’m so sorry!”</p><p>Gleb couldn’t help laughing as his fingers found the cold, wet splotch on his chest. “Don’t apologize, you silly girl.”</p><p>He stood up and stretched. As much as he loved to see her in good spirits once more, the sight of her injuries made him anxious. He was quite impatient to deal with her situation once and for all. </p><p>She seemed disappointed. “Where are you going?”</p><p>“<i>We</i> are heading back to the stolovaya. It’s time for you to get back to work.”</p><p>He offered to help her up. She glanced at his outstretched hand, and then at him. </p><p>“Why?” She crossed her arms. “Being out here with you is fun.”</p><p>“All good things must come to an end.” </p><p>He smiled, patiently waiting. Her lips curled into an irritated pout — and he flicked his fingers persistently in invitation. </p><p>Finally, she sighed. She took his hand and let him help her to her feet. </p><p>“So where do you have to run off to now?” She locked her arm with his. “You’re in a hurry all of a sudden.”</p><p>“Well — first, I’ll have to entrust you to Dominik’s care for a while,” he explained as they set forth along the bridge. “The mere presence of a man near you should keep these cowards from attacking you again. And more importantly, we both have ample experience in the battlefield. He’ll keep you out of harm’s way if the worst should happen.” </p><p>She nodded somberly as she took this in. </p><p>He hesitated to say more. Still, he knew he must.</p><p>“And then I’ll head back to the office, of course. I’ll set things in motion and I’ll have these men arrested as soon as possible. Until then, Anya, it is <i>vital</i> that you stay near us at all times. If — for your own safety — I begged you not to go <i>anywhere</i> on your own during this time, would you obey me?”</p><p>Just as he dreaded, she was suddenly anxious. “Obey you?”</p><p>“Only until the streets are safe for you again,” he added quickly. “And not one minute longer.”</p><p>She fixed her troubled gaze on the cobblestone.</p><p>He cast an uneasy sidelong glance at her.</p><p>“Okay,” she yielded. Against all odds.</p><p>Gleb nodded.</p><p>“Thank you,” he said earnestly.</p><p>Despite his relief, it seemed to him that this was a rather strange reaction from her. He’d expected she would resist the idea of having anyone stand guard over her, being as headstrong as she was. Perhaps this meant that she was more frightened than she cared to admit, even to herself.</p><p>As they walked, he pressed her hand a little tighter to his side — ever so subtly. He wanted to draw her out of whatever dark thoughts she was contemplating. To offer reassurance without offending her pride. Letting him comfort her, she closed her eyes for the briefest moment and exhaled a sigh.  </p>
<hr/><p>The rest of the walk to the stolovaya transpired in silence. As they stood in front of the entrance, Anya turned to face him. It seemed there was something on her mind, though she was reluctant to say it. </p><p>“So now you’re leaving,” she tried.</p><p>“Now I need to have a word with Dominik,” Gleb said. “But yes — afterward, I must be on my way.”</p><p>She nodded. She pursed her lips. Then — “You should actually stay this time. Yesterday, you just dropped me off and ran away. It wouldn’t kill you to—” She turned away as her cheeks began to redden. “Five minutes! Like you always say. You don’t have to sit in the dining area if you don’t like people staring — I could set up a place for you in the lunchroom — and then — I could buy <i>you</i> something to eat, or—” Her ears were aflame with scarlet by this point. “Or I could… serve you tea…”</p><p>Well.</p><p>Who would’ve thought it? </p><p>He was now grinning wide enough to bite his ears. And she was peevishly glaring at the slush on the sidewalk as she struggled with her embarrassment — evading his gaze.</p><p>Before he could stop himself, he’d bent down and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.</p><p>And then, as his lips lingered on her smooth, warm skin — and the smell of raw potatoes and half-congealed blood wafted to his nose — his rational mind regained control of his person. Too late. </p><p>He let go of her and straightened up, chuckling awkwardly as a surge of heat rushed to his face. </p><p>Anya was the perfect image of silent mortification as she cradled her hand in her other palm. </p><p>Despite the sheer awkwardness of this moment, he was suddenly aware of how beautiful she looked in her new uniform. On her, the simple white dress did not at all seem plain or unattractive. Rather, it appeared to highlight her innocence and purity — the unassuming, quiet strength of her character.</p><p>He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “You look quite fetching in that uniform.”</p><p>A surprised, bashful giggle. “You really think that?”</p><p>“It suits you.”</p><p>She seemed quite happy. “I think it looks all right! And — it’s soft.”</p><p>She adorably trailed her fingers along the fabric of her skirt in a brief spell of wonderment. She then glanced toward the shop’s entrance. And, with concealed hopefulness, back at him. “So…”</p><p>“I suppose I’d like you to take part in my conversation with Dominik,” Gleb conceded. “After all, the subject at hand is how we might best ensure your safety over the next few days.”</p><p>“But that’s not” —she seemed dissatisfied— “What I meant was—”</p><p>“Regrettably, my dear Anya, this matter is quite urgent. Thus, I’m afraid I can’t stay any longer than I must.” He said this decisively — though, indeed, it weighed on his heart to say no to her. “But I’ll certainly take you up on that invitation next time.”</p><p>She glanced away and sulked a moment. “Okay.”</p><p>On some level, it was rather flattering to see her sulk at the prospect of being parted from him. It was truly heart-warming.</p><p>An idea sparked to life in his mind.</p><p>“Still — I’d love to have you join me for tea tomorrow morning,” he added. “And the day after, if you desire — and every day afterward, until your situation has been resolved.”</p><p>Anya looked up in amazement. “Every day — what?”</p><p>“Only if you’d like,” he said. “This has been a very stressful time for you; you need something to help you keep up your cheer. And what could be better than a daily dose of black tea with honey?” He let his smile turn wry. “More to the point — it’s now clear to me that I need to keep tabs on you every twenty-four hours. Otherwise — there’s no telling what will happen to you next.”</p><p>His attempt at humor made her smile. He fervently hoped she would say yes. He was finding that he’d very much love to devote his early mornings to this lovely tigress-kitten.</p><p>Finally — a terse little nod. “Okay. I wouldn’t mind that.”</p><p>“Wonderful!” he declared. “Then, let’s consider it settled—”</p><p>“Well — not really,” she said. “It’s not settled, no.” </p><p>He tilted his head in question.</p><p>“You said you’d do whatever I wanted,” she reminded him, “if I went out to the bridge with you. I asked you to stay — you said no. So are you going to break your promise, Gleb? Or do I get to ask for something else?” </p><p>“Ah — that’s right!” He had quite forgotten! Evidently, she hadn’t. “I’ll do whatever else you want. How can I make you happy, Anya?”</p><p>“Well” —a coy smile— “it’s actually not that hard to do — I’m going easy on you. There’s just… something I want to tell you. Maybe.”</p><p>“Maybe?”</p><p>“<i>Maybe</i>,” she affirmed. “Maybe not! It’s a <i>very</i> important thing — so I’m not sure yet. But, if I decide I want to tell, then all you’d have to do is listen. You wouldn’t mind doing that, right?”</p><p>“It’d be my pleasure,” he said, curious. “A very important thing, you say?”</p><p>“So, so, <i>so</i> important,” she emphasized gravely. “So much <i>no one</i> can understand.”</p><p>“Well, now I’m certainly dying to know,” he admitted. “What is this matter about, broadly speaking?”</p><p>She narrowed her eyes pensively. In that second of quiet, the noise of the street — the chatter of passersby, the honking cars, the cawing of the birds perched on the rooftops — it all registered vaguely in the back of his mind. This might well be the busiest and loudest avenue in all of Leningrad — and yet, if she had spoken in a whisper, he would have certainly caught it. </p><p>At last, she decided she could give him a clue.</p><p>“It’s the thing that matters most in the world to me,” Anya said. “I’ve never told anyone about it — and I wasn’t going to tell you either. <i>You</i> least of all.” She smiled apologetically at her own frankness. “But now I know what you’re <i>really</i> like behind all your olive green and your flashy medals — and you keep saying I can count on you — and I actually believe you now. So I thought — maybe I want to let you see what’s inside my heart. Maybe.”</p><p>“<i>Maybe</i>.” He erupted into genuinely helpless laughter. “Well, then I shall wait for you to resolve your indecision! Is there anything I can do to tip the scales in my favor, Anya?”</p><p>“No.” She smiled beatifically. “I was ready to spill my guts to you today, but you’re not staying. Now there’s nothing else you can do.”</p><p>He grinned despite himself and shook his head. </p><p>“This is the cruellest punishment I have ever been subjected to,” he informed her. “But, very well — I absolutely <i>must</i> displease you today, so I’ll pay the price. At least I can trust you’ll decide on the question tomorrow?”</p><p>Anya shrugged. “Maybe.”</p><p>“<i>Maybe,</i>” he echoed meekly in lamentation.</p><p>He must be especially careful to stay on her good graces over the next few days. </p><p>Letting her smile droop, Anya winced a little — she gently touched the dark blotch on her cheek, closing her eyes. </p><p>He then realized that each word and gesture they’d exchanged today must’ve added to the constant aching of her bruises. Second-hand pain stirred in his belly.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’ve made you speak too much! You’ve made a heroic effort to chat with me this long, haven’t you?”</p><p>“I’m all right,” she lied.</p><p>“Perhaps I should deal with Dominik on my own after all.” He glanced again at the windowed double doors. “There’s no need for you to be present. What you <i>do</i> need right now is a little peace and—”</p><p>“No,” she said flatly. “I’ll be there. You’re not going to make any plans about me if I’m not around.” </p><p>He resisted an urge to sigh. </p><p>Still, there was a peculiar spring to his step as he strode up the stolovaya’s front steps and opened the door for her. Today, he had taken a monumental step forward with her; it would appear that he had, at long last, earned her trust — a privilege that he would diligently honor and foster going forward. </p><p>The more she came to rely on him, the better. </p><p>This, in time, would hopefully make it a little easier for him to worm his way into her heart. </p></div>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. In My Dreams — Part 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AN: </p><p>Well, hello, comrades. :) </p><p>So I was hoping this chapter would be short and quick.</p><p>I was wrong. XD</p><p>So — new rule of thumb. If it ever takes me more than 3 weeks to post something, it means I’m writing a ginormous, super-massive chapter like this one. You could consider this a triple update, in a way! It literally has three times as much content as a normal chapter. It’s kinda like a ‘season finale’. This officially closes the first 1/4th of the story’s plot. :)</p><p>So… I dunno, you might want to break up your reading into sessions of like 1 scene per day, lol. XD To prevent Glenya overload.</p><p>Side-note 1: I am very, very grateful to each of you for your faith in this story! Thank you for all your patience and support and encouragement! :’) I wuv you guys. &lt;3</p><p>Side-note 2: The story’s website IS FINALLY DONE. YES. Now I just gotta put it online, and then you’ll never again have to worry about my being silent a few weeks in a row, haha.</p><p>Side-note 3: By this point I am SERIOUSLY thinking I should write a spin-off story for Black Tea, centered on some mysterious characters who keep popping up as I write these chapters. They are: Gelb, Anta, Dmitruy and Blad (the conemen).</p><p>- - -</p><p>Chapter glossary: </p><p>- “Be well!” / “Be healthy!”: This is the Russian equivalent of ‘Bless you!’ You know, what people say when someone sneezes. </p><p>- Gulags: The Soviet labor camps, where political prisoners (i.e., anyone who got arrested on the grounds of being “anti-Soviet”) got shipped off to. </p><p>- - -</p><p>Right, on with the show! Take good care of yourselves, everybody. And thank you so much for sticking with me. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="chapter-wrapper"><hr/><p>That morning, as ever, his alarm clock went off at 4:00 am. The mechanical ringing startled him awake; like an automaton, he reached for the obnoxious little machine—</p><p>His hand swatted uselessly at empty space. </p><p>There was nothing where the clock and bedside table were supposed to be. </p><p>This surprise quickly restored him to full awareness. Squinting in the dark, Gleb glanced about himself, expecting to see the familiar, sparse furnishings of his bedroom — the ironing board, the old wooden trunk. Instead, he found himself surrounded by the stark emptiness of the living room. He lay draped across the couch, still in full uniform, with his feet dangling over the armrest — and a dull ache in his knees and neck as a result of this. </p><p>So it had been one of those nights. </p><p>Groaning, he sat up. Buried his face in his hands. He could feel the leftover exhaustion from yesterday. He sighed, hating the way his voice bounced off the walls and came echoing back to him. </p><p>Rubbing his eyes, he tried to remember what he’d been mulling on before drifting off to sleep — what could be so important that he’d wasted the precious few hours of rest he could afford himself each night. It finally came to him after a minute of picking at his memory. He’d been worrying about Anya’s—</p><p>Anya! </p><p>Today was the first day he’d be sharing tea and breakfast with her. </p><p>He grinned rather stupidly at the darkness in front of him. Suddenly feeling quite reinvigorated, he stood up, stretched, resisted the temptation to lob that clock out the window, and set about his morning routine. First, some exercise — push-ups, crunches, squats, planks, and jogging in place, all of these for either 200 repetitions or 200 seconds, and then looping again until 60 minutes had transpired. Afterward, a steaming shower, a fresh set of clothes — and with that, he had built up enough strength of spirit to deal with whatever this day might have in store for him. </p><p>Or… <i>hopefully</i>, it would be enough. Getting through today’s workout had been strangely challenging. Perhaps it was the poor quality of last night’s sleep - or the fact that he could not recall having eaten much over the past twelve hours. </p><p>Well, no matter. The time shared with Anya would be more than enough to fully replenish his energy.</p><p>As the clock on his kitchen wall struck five, he stepped outside — into the freezing air of early dawn — and made his way toward Dominik’s stolovaya. </p><p>He glimpsed her unmistakable short, slender silhouette through the windowed doors as he climbed the steps to the entrance. Moments later, the door had swung open — and he was standing in the presence of a very cheerful and impatient Anya. </p><p>“Hi,” she said, her grin wide and white and brighter than the moon.</p><p>Her bruises seemed to be faring better. Not quite as dark and tender as they had been yesterday. Another thing to be glad about.</p><p>Beaming back, Gleb nodded. “Good morning, comrade.”</p><p>“She’s been standing guard at that door for <i>forever</i>!” Dominik suddenly appeared behind Anya, a dripping mop balanced on his shoulder. “She’s so excited about the whole thing! Ain’t you, Nyetrushka? She even sorta <i>tried</i> to get her hair to look good, just for you! But—”</p><p>“Dominik — shut up!” Anya whirled around and slapped his arm. Dominik laughed like the perpetual teenager he was as she shoved him back into the dining area. “You’re supposed to be <i>really</i> busy right now!”</p><p>“Aww, Nyurchik, why’re you mad at me <i>now</i>? I just thought Gleb should know how <i>much</i> you—”</p><p>“Stop it! Leave us alone, you dodo!” </p><p>And, wrenching the mop from his hands, she quite literally chased him away. Dominik <i>almost</i> managed to escape her wrath; ferociously swinging her weapon, she sprayed him with an arching jet of brownish-black water as he fled into the kitchen. </p><p>Her ears glowed a fiery red hue as she made her way back to Gleb. He held a knuckle to his lips, bit his tongue, and willed himself not to laugh or smile.</p><p>He was glad to find she was just as enthusiastic about this as he was.</p><p>Now he must apply a little balm to her pride.</p><p>“I’ll have you know, my dear Anya,” he said as they set off for the teashop, her arm linked in his, “you were the very first thing on my mind when I woke up this morning.”</p><p>This seemed to comfort her somewhat. </p><p>“I was?” she asked.</p><p>“Indeed!” Gleb grinned. “The prospect of sharing this moment with you was what got me out of bed today. My… <i>astonishingly lovely</i> new friend and I! It’ll be only us — and no one and nothing else. No pressure, no time limits. No distractions.” </p><p>Inevitably, his face flushed with a bit of warmth as he gushed on about this. He would blame that on the cold if she decided to tease him about it. </p><p>She gave him a little lopsided grin. “Stop flattering me. You’re making it sound like I’m the most important person in Russia! It’s just breakfast, Gleb.”</p><p>“Ah — <i>just</i> breakfast. You see, I’m very glad to hear you say this,” he said — quite sincerely. “So you <i>have</i> been eating at least twice a day as of late — haven’t you, Anya?”</p><p>She rolled her eyes with theatrical forbearance. “<i>Yes</i>, Father. I have.”</p><p>“Good.” He laughed, but pressed on: “And have you stayed indoors ever since I saw you last? Did you sleep well last night?” </p><p>Yesterday, he had found out — to his dismay and consternation — that Anya was quite literally homeless. And she had been so for the past few months. </p><p>This dreadful discovery had taken place in Dominik’s office, during their discussion with him:</p><p>“Now,” Gleb had begun as he and Anya sat at the cheap iron desk, across from his airheaded comrade. “The issue on the table is how we may best coordinate efforts to keep Anya safe until her stalkers have been arrested.” A glance at Anya. “For this to work, we might need to relocate you, comrade, from your current place of residence. Temporarily, of course. I assume you’re staying at some sort of guest house — or perhaps a shelter…?”</p><p>“I—” At this, she had twined her fingers. Pursing her lips.</p><p>Then she’d offered him a rather sheepish grin. “I mean — actually, it’s kind of embarrassing.”</p><p>He’d frowned, not quite comprehending. “Yes?”</p><p>She’d hesitated a moment longer. Inhaled deeply. “So — um, you know how we went to that bridge a while ago?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“I used to live there.”</p><p>This had sounded rather strange to him. “You lived… <i>near</i> the bridge?”</p><p>Anya’s smile had seemed almost apologetic. “No, Gleb. I lived <i>under</i> it.”</p><p>All he could do was stare in horror. </p><p>Indeed, she had mentioned sleeping out in the woods before. But, for some reason, he had assumed that she’d managed to find sort of temporary lodging here in Leningrad. How naive of him! Of course she wouldn’t. Renting a bed at the humblest of hostels required a level of financial stability that she simply didn’t have. And, these days, the vast majority of shelters for the homeless were full beyond capacity. This meant that Anya would be unable to find a place to live in the foreseeable future. For the time being, it seemed nothing could be done to lift her up from her state of vagrancy.</p><p>Ultimately, he and Dominik had come up with a terribly inadequate solution to this problem. One of Dominik’s storage rooms was <i>almost</i> large enough that one could comfortably lie across it. Thus — that night, they had brought in planks and tools, rolled up their sleeves, and reinforced the old wooden scaffolding so that Anya could sleep on the uppermost shelf.</p><p>This had made her so happy it was heart-breaking to behold.</p><p>Peering down at them from her new makeshift bed, she’d burst into laughter — giddy with delight, like a girl in a tree house.</p><p>He felt ashamed of himself for this. </p><p>Letting her live in a pantry! </p><p>Amongst sacks of beans and lentils and vegetable crates and spice jars. </p><p>This, alas, was all he could do for her in this regard! At least for now. Short of— </p><p>Short of…</p><p>“Well,” Anya said, snapping him back to the present. “I didn’t really <i>have</i> a choice, did I? With Dominik standing guard allday — seriously, this is getting <i>ridiculous</i>!”</p><p>She uttered a growl of exasperation. It made him laugh. (Though, privately, he made a mental note to thank Dominik for actually taking his job seriously.)</p><p>“It’s not funny!” she groaned. “You better catch Plisetsky’s goons soon — you hear me, Gleb? If not… I’ll go <i>crazy</i>!”</p><p>He smiled sympathetically. “I shall have to speed things along, then. The investigation on these men is already underway; I’ll be signing off on the final report in some forty-eight hours — and then we can move in and arrest them without further ado. They’ll all be behind bars before you know it.”</p><p>She looked like this timeline wasn’t much consolation to her.</p><p>As it’d turn out, he and Anya were among the teashop’s first customers today. Yet, not quite the first. When they walked in, they were greeted by the sight of a few other bureaucrats, sitting alone at their tables or sharing hushed conversations in small groups. The sparsely decorated room was sprinkled with the pale grays and greens of about a dozen uniforms. There was, of course, not a single civilian in sight, other than Anya herself. </p><p>“Wow.” She inched a little closer to him as they wove their way in between the tables — over to the one by the window, where they’d sat but a few days ago. “All these people… where’d these men come from?”</p><p>“Apparatchik privilege.” Gleb pulled out a chair for her. “This and other establishments are open only to us at the earliest hours of the morning.”</p><p>“Mm.” She glanced at the men around them, rather warily, as she sat down. Then — a wry smile at him. “But I thought everybody was equal now?”</p><p>His brows jumped up at this rhetorical ambush. </p><p>He willed his wits to snap into formation. He was sure there <i>must</i> be a proper answer to that taunt. But, to his chagrin, he couldn’t think of a proper argument to offer her. He fled to the counter and ordered their breakfast to cover up his embarrassment. </p><p>A short while later, two steaming teacups and a platter of poached egg sandwiches sat invitingly on their table. The sight and the smell of it drew a grin of eager anticipation from her.</p><p>Her candor made him smile as he draped his coat on the back of his chair and began to remove his gloves. “Please, comrade, go ahead.”</p><p>But, as she was reaching out to pick a sandwich, she froze. </p><p>Reining in her enthusiasm, she drew her hand to her chest. Her brows knit, as if deep in thought. She closed her eyes; her lips moved subtly as she whispered something — almost too quietly to hear. </p><p>“O Most Holy Trinity,” were the first few words he caught. </p><p>Ah! </p><p>Prayer. </p><p>“Lord, cleanse us from our sins,” she recited. The words flowed forth from of her lips with ease — out of old habit. “Pardon our transgressions.”</p><p>Unexpectedly, this was a prayer he remembered. </p><p><i>‘O Christ God, bless the food and drink of thy servants,’</i> he predicted. </p><p>And, ringing sharp and clear across the void of time, his mother’s velvet voice was suddenly saying the words in his mind.</p><p>“For thou art holy,” Anya finished quietly, “always, now and ever and unto ages of ages — amen.”</p><p>She opened her eyes. </p><p>She flashed him a fleeting, apologetic grin. </p><p>“Sometimes I forget to say thanks,” she said.</p><p>She then gleefully picked a sandwich from the plate.</p><p>Gleb realized he was still frozen in the middle of pulling his gloves off his hands. </p><p>This strange moment had thrown him off-balance. Unwittingly, Anya had submerged him in a tidal wave of memories. Despite his father’s constant mockery, his mother had fiercely clung to her religious practices — her prayer beads, her blessings at the table, her incense and icons - until the last moment of her life. Gleb himself had abandoned the Orthodox faith of his childhood long ago, but…Perhaps in her honor, he would never have a man shot for praying in public. Even though all public acts of religion were now strictly forbidden. </p><p>Perhaps this was another sign of Anya’s newfound trust in him. Normally, praying in the presence of a chekist would be much like fiddling with a hand grenade.</p><p>“You went quiet,” she said through a mouthful of bread. “Why? What’re you thinking, Gleb?”</p><p>“Ah — I’m sorry,” he replied, sitting down. “Nothing too important.”</p><p>“Mm. Okay.” She downed the food with a hearty swig of tea — and very  nearly choked on it. “Ow ow ow! Hot!”</p><p>“That’s why it’s best to drink tea one small sip at a time, Anya.”</p><p>She blew little puffs of air at nothing in particular. As if this could undo the damage to her scalded tongue. </p><p>“Would you like a glass of water?” Gleb chuckled.</p><p>“No.” She glanced back and forth between him and the tray. “Hurry up and eat something! Or I’m just going to beat you to <i>all</i> of those.”</p><p>He realized that his stomach <i>was</i>, indeed, begging for food. He helped himself to one of the sandwiches.</p><p>While he nibbled on it, he asked her questions. </p><p>He asked her how she was adapting to her new job. What had her first day been like? Had she enjoyed it? Were her workmates behaving well toward her? It turned out, when she was at ease, Anya had a way of expressing herself with eloquence and passion. Full of energy, she narrated her adventures at work with such charm and wit that she seemed to draw him into a sort of hypnosis. The passing of time faded out of his awareness. He relaxed into the simple bliss of listening to her.  </p><p>“And… <i>you</i>?” she asked him suddenly.</p><p>Gleb blinked. “Me?”</p><p>“I just rambled nonstop about myself for a million hours. Now it’s <i>your</i> turn!” She picked up another sandwich. “I demand to know <i>lots of things</i> about you now.”</p><p>“Lots of things?” he echoed, trying to gather his thoughts together. “About me? Hmm.”</p><p>He brought a hand to his chin. What could he say? </p><p>He felt a little reluctant to discuss his life with her at this time. Because his work <i>was</i> his life. And he wasn’t quite sure yet how to make his profession sound less alienating to her. “Er…”</p><p>“Really — it’s not complicated,” she said — and paused to swallow. “<i>Anything</i> is fine! You don’t have to think about it that hard.” </p><p>“I…” Alas, not one piece of information that wasn’t related to the Cheka — or the war — came to his mind. “Er — well, I… Ah…”</p><p>To his horror, he was fidgeting. Running his finger in circles around the polished ceramic rim of his cup. </p><p>He must seem like the most uninteresting man on earth. </p><p>“Okay — <i>I’ll</i> ask you questions,” Anya said, taking pity on him. “And you answer. How about that?”</p><p>He nodded gratefully.</p><p>“Right.” She tapped her nails on the plain white tablecloth a moment. Thinking. </p><p>“Okay!” she said. “So — what’s your favorite drink?”</p><p>Gleb grinned. “Well, that one’s fairly easy. Tea! Black tea. With honey. What’s yours, Anya?”</p><p>She considered briefly. “Raw milk.”</p><p>“<i>Raw</i> milk?” he asked, eyebrows leaping up. “When did you—?”</p><p>“No, wait — that’s cheating!” she protested. “<i>I’m</i> the one asking the questions now! Not you. So, next — what’s your favorite food?”</p><p>“Anything that has eggs in it.” </p><p>Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the table, chin on his palm. He was rather enjoying this little game. </p><p>“Yes,” he added, “I’ll admit eggs are something of an extravagance these days. But, well, I hear they’re fairly good for protein — and flavor-wise, they can never disappoint.”</p><p>“Anything with eggs in it.” She had wolfed down her second sandwich now. She contentedly leaned back in her chair. “Does that include cake?”</p><p>Gleb shook his head. </p><p>“You <i>don’t like</i> cake?”</p><p>“Anya,” he said, “sweets and pastries are my <i>worst</i> weakness. They <i>annihilate</i> my strength of will — that is the reason I normally avoid them.”</p><p>“Ooooh! Really?” There was a glint of mischief to her smile. “What kind of cake do you like the most?”</p><p>“Honey cake,” he said. “This is sensitive information, comrade — I do hope you don’t plan on using it against me!” </p><p>She giggled for all answer. He tried to put on a grave expression, only half-succeeding.</p><p>“No — this is no laughing matter!” he said. “This is <i>deadly</i> serious; if my enemies wanted to poison me, they’d only need to have a slice of <i>that</i> delivered to my office. I would be dead by sundown. I thank my lucky stars no one has thought of that yet.”</p><p>This seemed to surprise her. “You have enemies?”</p><p>“Oh, I do,” he said, with a dry chuckle. “An impressive number of them, in fact. Incompetent idiots, every last one — if I may be frank with you. Most of them resent me for the fact that I was the youngest general in the Red Army — whereas <i>these</i> men—” </p><p>Then he cut himself off. He had just drifted into the topic of the war — as if by force of gravity. </p><p>He hadn’t lasted three questions.</p><p>“What?” Anya asked, curious. “These men <i>what</i>?”</p><p>He glanced down into the dark, sweet-smelling tea in his cup.</p><p>“Wait. Did you say… You were a <i>general</i>?!” She slammed her hands on the table in shock; their plates clattered. “A <i>general</i>, Gleb?”</p><p>“Yes, indeed I was.” He smiled wryly. “I don’t exactly look the part, do I?”</p><p>“No — actually, you do!” she said. “It’s just — I already knew you were kind of important, but — a <i>general</i>! That’s…”</p><p>“A tad much? I agree.” </p><p>Gleb paused. Evaluated. </p><p>He decided he might simply say whatever came to mind. </p><p>“When the war was at its worst,” he began, “we faced a painful shortage of qualified officials. Simply put, we <i>had</i> no leaders — only dimwits loaded with medals they hadn’t earned. Our men were dying by the cartful. It was a desperate situation — such that many junior officials, like I was, were promoted to senior positions dizzyingly fast.” </p><p>Anya gazed at him in awe. </p><p>Gleb turned to gaze out the window, not quite seeing the bright red-gold-yellow sunrise outside. </p><p>“Yes — quite fast,” he mused aloud, after a moment. “But not <i>irresponsibly</i> so, I don’t think. There was a certain basis in merit <i>most</i> of the time. Still, in my case — I think I might’ve been picked simply because the Romanovs’—”</p><p>That lone word shook him out of his reflections. </p><p>It startled him like gunshots in the night. </p><p>Across from him, Anya seemed to hold her breath. </p><p>“Yeah?” she whispered. “What about them?”</p><p>Gleb had to blink at her a second. </p><p>Had he <i>truly</i> just let that slip? </p><p>But, no — the last thing he wanted was for her to know <i>anything</i> related to the Tsar and his family. Related to Anastasia.</p><p>He must rectify this mistake at once.</p><p>“Oh — nothing special,” he said. “I meant to say — the Romanovs’ downfall was… Bah, it doesn’t matter. We should—”</p><p>Her eyes seemed to pierce into his. “So you had something to do with them?”</p><p>“No,” he said. Too quickly. Too curtly. </p><p>He inhaled deeply. Tried again: “Not <i>personally</i>, I mean. While they were being held prisoner at Yekaterinburg, I was asked to—” His smile turned brittle. “Why, dear Anya, would you want to know about <i>this</i> of all things?”</p><p>At this question, she faltered. Frowned. </p><p>She began to push the crumbs on her plate with her finger. </p><p>“I don’t know,” she murmured finally. “I guess you’re right. It’s really none of my business. It’s just… the other day I heard someone talking about—” She hesitated. “About <i>Yekaterinburg</i>. How they were killed there. I don’t know why it bothers me so much.” She lifted her eyes to him again. “Maybe I was hoping you could tell me it really wasn’t as bad as it sounds?”</p><p>Gleb folded his arms. Pondered. </p><p>Of course, he believed every word of this explanation. Her innocence was clearly written in her calmness. Her open, steady gaze. </p><p>Perhaps he could offer her some closure on this issue, once and for all. </p><p>“Be very careful of these rumors that prevail,” he said somberly. “The Russian people need to open their eyes to the truth and embrace it for what it is. Yes — I was a junior sergeant serving at Yekaterinburg when the royal family was executed. <i>I</i> lived the truth behind the tale, Anya. I heard the shots, and I heard the screams. And I can <i>guarantee </i>you that not <i>one</i> of them—”</p><p>“Stop.” Her face scrunched up in a grimace. “I’m sorry — let’s stop now! I don’t want to hear—”</p><p>“None of them got away,” he finished in a sigh. “Forgive me. I won’t burden you with more details; I only want to answer your question. Suffice it to say that the Romanovs’ deaths were…” </p><p>He looked up at the faintly burning lamp on the ceiling. He closed his eyes a moment. Searching for the right words. </p><p>“<i>Unavoidable</i>,” he decided. “And <i>necessary</i>. Not at all a thing to mourn or regret. It was the beginning of a new era!” He clenched his fist for her, in a show of patriotic fervor. “A <i>new</i> Russia! That will be the envy of <i>all</i> the world. Think of that the next time you’re forced to sit through some idle gossip at work, my dear Anya.” </p><p>And yet, for a long moment, she was silent. Her eyes, downcast. </p><p>Now the crumbs on her plate were all gathered into a little mound right at the center of it. Suddenly, she seemed to brighten. She licked a little egg residue off her finger. </p><p>“Sure,” she chirped. “Thank you for your warning, comrade. We should go.”</p><p>Gleb blinked, trying to make sense of this. “Er, yes… I suppose.”</p><p>It was rather a disappointment. Somehow it felt like they had barely spoken at all. Was it his fault she wanted to leave now? It probably was.</p><p>He rose to his feet. Sighing, he threw his coat back on. </p><p>“Yes, that sounds about right,” he said, resigned. “It’s time for us both to get our day started, isn’t it?” </p><p>“Well… no,” Anya said. She was pouring what was left of her tea (and his) into that convenient little pouch of hers. “Not for me, anyways! Work starts at one for me. And I was stuck <i>all</i> day and <i>all</i> night at that place — there’s <i>no way</i> I’m going back yet. So—” </p><p>Leaping up, she latched on to his elbow with a playful grin. </p><p>“I decided I’m kidnapping you instead, General Vaganov,” she declared.</p><p>“I—!” Well, that was unexpected! She stole an utterly doltish giggle from him. “I’m being kidnapped?”</p><p>“Yeah, you are.”</p><p>He was grinning uncontrollably despite the howling wind that met them outside. </p><p>“Then I suppose I’ll be your prisoner for however long you wish,” he said. “So where to now, my captress?”</p><p>Her eyes flitted upwards as she considered this. </p><p>Without a clear destination in mind, he began to lead her down the sidewalk. The sun had risen almost entirely by this time, and the Nevsky avenue had suddenly seen a surge of early morning traffic. Bodies clad in drab woolen coats and heads wearing brownish-gray caps now surrounded them. The first whispers of gossip were being exchanged. </p><p>Suddenly, Anya gave him one of her surprise giggles. </p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“Can’t you see it?” She pointed at the horde of people all around them. “People are stepping aside to let us through!”</p><p>“Ah, they are.” </p><p>At that instant, he became aware of it. The way everyone around them shot him glances of sheer terror as they scuttled out of their way. The one piece of novelty to this was the fact that they were now staring wide-eyed at Anya as well. Exchanging whispers of morbid fascination as they saw her walking next to him. </p><p>He let out a rather scornful, low chuckle.</p><p>“Yes, it’s quite convenient,” he said. “This has always been their reaction to me, ever since I donned my first uniform as a sergeant. I suppose I stopped paying attention to it some ten years ago.”</p><p>Anya looked down at the ice and slush crunching underfoot.</p><p>“Huh. Ten years,” she said softly.</p><p>In the frosty morning air, the tip of her nose had turned a rather lovely red tint.</p><p>“You know, ten years ago, people were sort of singling me out too.” She chuckled grimly at herself. “At the hospital. I was the girl with no name who had no money to pay for anything — and didn’t even know how to hold a mop.” She glanced at him, and her smile lit up. “It would’ve been nice if I’d met you then, huh? You and me — two weird loners! Taking on the rest of the world!”</p><p>“It would have been an absolute joy,” he said, beaming back. “But to be frank, if I had the power to travel through time, I would have gone a little farther back. Back to the era before you lost your memories.” </p><p>She tilted her head curiously. He wondered whether he was saying too much — again. He hoped not. </p><p>In his mind’s eye, he saw Anya — collapsing to the ground in a fit of panic, in response to that backfiring truck on the morning he’d met her. </p><p>Yes, the scars of the Revolution ran deep in the hearts of many. But words could not describe the harm <i>she</i>, in particular, had suffered. </p><p>“I would have tried to prevent… <i>whatever</i> it was that forced you to forget who you were,” he explained. “I want to believe I could have done <i>something</i> about it. I would have spared <i>no effort</i> to protect you and your family until the war had passed.”</p><p>A glimpse of tenderness flickered in her eyes. </p><p>She launched herself at him with such force he very nearly fell over. </p><p>Immediately, he experienced that breathless racing of his heart as his face started heating up. Now she had him locked in a fierce side-hug, pinning his left arm to his torso. He chuckled awkwardly as he took in the sight of her thin, small body wrapped around him. Committing the moment to memory. </p><p>How tightly she held him!</p><p>“Gleb,” she whispered softly against his sleeve. “Aw, Gleb.” </p><p>Then she detached herself from him and kissed his shoulder. </p><p>His stomach did a backflip.</p><p>“<i>Why</i> did I have to wait all my life to find you?” she giggled, rubbing his arm affectionately. “Seriously! Men like you don’t even exist anymore. You’re kind of… like a guardian angel to me!”</p><p><i>That</i> was something he had never been compared to. </p><p>“An angel, Anya?” He grinned skeptically. “Me?”</p><p>He caught her wrist and lightly kissed her hand before she could object. At once, Anya snatched it away from him. He laughed as she blushed scarlet and frantically tried to rub the kiss away.</p><p>“Uh, yeah…” she mumbled, recovering. “One with lots of… disturbing tales to tell. And some really scary ideas. And a gun.”</p><p>Shaken loose by her impulsive tackle-hug, specks of lint from his coat now wafted in the air around them. The cloud of fuzz caught the shy golden rays of the sun — and, glittering, it floated around her in a way that seemed almost dreamlike. Settling delicately on her half-tamed, frizzy hair.</p><p>He was mesmerized. No amount of hardship would ever truly hide her beauty. And yet, seeing her bruised cheek — her black eye — he was beset by the urge to simply pick her up and carry her away to someplace safe… His own home, for instance. But unlike non-metaphorical street kittens, she might not appreciate that.</p><p>Then — she sneezed.</p><p>“Oh — be well!” He passed her a handkerchief — yet again, he’d been prepared.</p><p>“<i>And</i>, hankies!” she said as she wiped her nose. “<i>Always</i> hankies.”</p><p>“They haven’t failed me once up till now,” he said proudly. “The people I command may disappoint me often — but, <i>these</i> things? Never.”</p><p>She kindly smiled at his joke attempt. </p><p>Then she again took his elbow — and now she was the one setting their course, towing him along with light-footed resolve.</p><p>“Er—” He sped up a little to match her step. “Where <i>are</i> you taking me, then, Anya? If I may ask.”</p><p>“You’ll see. You’ll like it.”</p>
<hr/><p>Strangely, within a few minutes they found themselves back at the stolovaya’s entrance. </p><p>But, rather than stopping there, Anya led him down an alleyway that was discreetly tucked away right next to the building. In the narrow, shaded space, the temperature seemed to drop by five degrees instantly.</p><p>She let go of him, skipped a few steps forward, and pointed up — at a broken iron ladder that was set into the wall. It seemed to reach all the way up to the top of the building, and it ended abruptly some six feet up from the ground. </p><p>“This is a secret thing I found when you brought me here,” Anya said. “I thought maybe I’d share it with you. Let’s go — I’ll show you.”</p><p>Lithe as a cat, she jumped up. She latched on to the bottom rung, planted her feet on the wall, and used the uneven brick surface of the building as a foothold to propel herself upward. </p><p>In seconds, she was looking smugly down at him from her lofty perch. The ivory skirt of her uniform swayed gently in the breeze.</p><p>“Impressive.” Gleb frowned. “Is this the reason why the nicks on your hands can never heal properly?” </p><p>At this reminder, her eyes widened. She raised a hand from the iron bars to look at her palm. Wincing, she surveyed the damage she’d just done to herself. </p><p>“Uhhhh — no,” she said. “It doesn’t matter — come on! Follow me. But don’t look up.” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “If you try to peep up my skirt, <i>I’ll kill you</i>.”</p><p>His face burned; he rolled his eyes. Apparently, this was all the assent she needed — and then Anya was climbing farther and farther up the ladder, the old tubes complaining with their hollow creaking and clanging. </p><p>Gleb sighed. </p><p>This was going to leave wrinkles on his clothing. </p><p>Ah, well.</p><p>He reached up and took hold of the first, ice-cold rung. Minding the treacherous edges that poked out of the tubes’ poorly soldered joints, he hoisted himself upward and up he went. </p><p>And he most certainly kept his eyes fixed on the rung directly above him. </p><p>Appallingly, he could see the fresh scarlet droplets of Anya’s blood on the spots where she’d gripped the ladder. </p><p>She was waiting for him at the top. He clambered up onto the rooftop and involuntarily shivered — the wind up here blew strong and undeterred, seemingly carrying thousands of thin ice needles with it.</p><p>“You made it!” she cheered — as he surveyed the new, uneven terrain around them. The roof was slanted, and it was strewn with cables, pipes, poles, and the protruding structures of chimneys and ornamental parapets. To further complicate matters, a white layer of hardened snow stretched all around, hiding the edges of roof-facing windows and whatever else might represent a safety risk for his reckless, imprudent companion. </p><p>“Yes,” he said, dusting flecks of iron off his gloves. “May I see your hands?” </p><p>“No.” She quickly hid them behind her back. </p><p>Nodding for him to follow, she trotted over to the edge of the roof — on the side of it that faced the Nevsky.</p><p>“Anya — be careful, please,” Gleb warned, tentatively probing his way forward through the snow. “It’s a very long way down. I don’t want to see you dead fifty feet below.” </p><p>“Don’t be silly,” she said. She rested her elbows on the parapet, her eyes on the street. “Hurry up and get over here. <i>Look.</i> Can’t you <i>see</i>?”</p><p>Finally, he made it all the way to the edge. Standing next to her, he gazed in the same direction as she, trying to spot whatever had her so fascinated. </p><p>And <i>then</i> he understood.</p><p>The scene before them was utterly breath-taking. Above, the radiant azure sky could almost mimic the perfect color of her eyes. Below, the city was spread out at their feet as if it were a minutely detailed miniature model. He could see Leningrad’s rooftops — the spires, the domes, the slopes, the chimneys — all lined with white, sprawling for miles around until they disappeared into the distance. Then — seemingly infinite rows of windows — and the dignified, majestic buildings that flanked the street: arching facades painted blue, red, pink, yellow, turquoise. Lastly, below, there was the street and the muffled roar of car engines — and a throng of minuscule, lilliputian people parading on the sidewalks, their raucous voices reduced to a faint hum that barely stood out against the silence. </p><p>It all seemed so peculiarly distant. And yet, at once, so beautiful. So small. So great. So remote.</p><p>“Okay, <i>now</i> you see,” Anya said. She had her forearms propped up on the stone banister as she, too, gazed on the scaled-down city. “Isn’t it pretty? The other day, I found this view, and I liked it a lot, so I claimed it. It’s mine now.” </p><p>“Ah, it’s yours, is it?” he questioned, quirking up an eyebrow. </p><p>“Yeah. Mine.” She nodded with solemnity. “<i>Nobody</i> else will ever come up to <i>this</i> spot and <i>see</i> this with me. I mean — nobody but <i>you</i>. You’re the <i>one</i> exception, Gleb, like always. I guess that means it’s yours, too, in a way.” </p><p>He rested his eyes on the cars rumbling by as he mulled on this. </p><p>He rather liked the thought of having been invited into a corner of the world that was so meaningfully hers. Sharing this place with her. This view. </p><p>“Can you see your home from here, Gleb?” she asked.</p><p>“Ah…” He squinted in the direction where the building ought to be. “Yes. It’s the… Look for a moss-green tower with double windows — almost in the same sector as the Cheka’s headquarters. Right there. Can you see it?”</p><p>“Uh… Yeah!” Now she was pointing at it. “<i>That</i> one. There.” </p><p>“That’s correct,” Gleb said. “That is an apartment building reserved entirely for bureaucrats.” </p><p>Considering this, he smiled almost apologetically. </p><p>“You might say it’s… again, apparatchik’s privilege,” he added. “When I was promoted to this position, I got my home as a perk of the job.”</p><p>Anya turned to him, looking befuddled.</p><p>“So — let me get this straight,” she said. “You have… <i>a whole entire </i>apartment, <i>all</i> to yourself? So you have your <i>own</i> kitchen and your <i>own</i> bathroom and everything?”</p><p>“Er… yes,” Gleb said. </p><p>How asymmetrical this suddenly seemed to him. Yes, private apartments were indeed rare these days. <i>Communal</i> apartments, housing up to twelve families (officially), were far more common. The strange disparity of it all was heightened by the inescapable state of homelessness she was currently trapped in.</p><p>“Yes, indeed,” he said, sighing. “<i>All</i> these things and more.” </p><p>“Wow,” Anya said. “And — do you like it? What’s it like living there?”</p><p>“It’s… <i>unremarkable</i>,” Gleb replied frankly. “Not a fantastic place to be. It’s empty, in fact, for the most part. I simply have no idea what to do with all that space.”</p><p>His eyes lingered on the distant green tower. From afar, the structure of the building reminded him peculiarly of a hawk’s cage. </p><p>“I suppose that’s another reason I try to spend most of my time at the office,” he mused quietly. </p><p>At this point, he realized he was complaining like a pampered schoolboy. </p><p>He must correct this. </p><p>“But, of course, I’m <i>very</i> grateful to our great nation!” He amended. “For, ah… well — how <i>generously</i> She has rewarded my service.”</p><p>And he smiled. Widely. Trying to represent to her the goodness of their country. </p><p>Anya’s sharp eyes seemed to stare into his soul. </p><p>“Mm. That’s funny.” She rested her chin on her palm pensively. “I never knew someone could <i>not</i> like having someplace where you can sleep each night. I guess a place isn’t a home just because it’s yours and you live there.”</p><p>Her words sparked a question in his mind. </p><p>“What, then, is a home to you, Anya?” he asked. </p><p>“Uh — how am <i>I</i> supposed to know?” she giggled. “A home is what I <i>don’t</i> have! What <i>you</i> don’t have. At least that means we can be homeless together. That’s kind of nice in a way, right?”</p><p>He stared at the minute civilians passing by and tried to wrap his mind around this. </p><p>He supposed in some deep, philosophical sense, she was indeed quite right.</p><p>“Anyway,” Anya said, “I don’t know about you, but <i>I’m</i> not going to be homeless forever. That’s actually kind of what I came to Petersburg for.” </p><p>She turned around. Now she was leaning back against the parapet, propping herself up on her elbows. </p><p>“To… <i>Leningrad</i>, you mean?” Gleb corrected her gently.</p><p>But her mind was already somewhere else. As she looked up at the deep blue sky, she seemed oddly troubled. A little nervous, maybe? </p><p>“Gleb,” she said, “remember how I said I <i>might</i> tell you something <i>really</i> important? How I wanted to let you look inside my heart — just for a little bit?”</p><p>“Of course I do.”</p><p>It would appear, at last, the time had come. </p><p>Turning his back on the view, he was now seeing the sky, the clutter on the rooftop. The lone trail of their footsteps on the hardened snow. </p><p>If she hadn’t had his full attention before, she certainly did now. </p><p>“So you made up your mind, then?” he teased her, trying to ease her nervousness a bit. “I’m all ears, Anya.” </p><p>She drew in a deep, calming breath. </p><p>“Yeah,” she mumbled. “Okay. Um—”</p><p>She waited a little longer. Plucking up her courage. </p><p>“So… you already know that I’m… like <i>this</i>.” Her fingers pointing to her head. “I have no idea who I am, or where I’m <i>really</i> from, or… I don’t even know what my real name is.”</p><p>Gleb frowned. “‘Anya’ sounds real enough to me.” </p><p>“Well, to <i>everybody</i> else, it doesn’t.” A bitter smile. “With the street sweepers, <i>every Friday</i> I had to walk up to that lady at the office and say, ‘Hi! I’m Anya No Last Name! Also known as Anya Just Anya! Or, Anya That’s It.’”</p><p>A pang of pity stirred in his chest as he heard her mock herself this way.</p><p>Indeed, every Russian’s name was something of an abbreviated genealogical tree. ‘Gleb Stefanovich Vaganov’ meant that Gleb, son of Stefan, belonged to the Vaganov family. For Anya, such simple acts as introducing herself to someone or registering at a payment queue must be frequent reminders of all she lacked. </p><p>“<i>Ugh!</i> Don’t look at me like that!” she huffed. “I’m not a stray puppy! I’m just telling you that’s the way it is.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said.</p><p>“Eh.” She crossed her arms. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I <i>told</i> you — I’m <i>not</i> just going to give up and be this way forever! I’m going to get my old self back one day.”</p><p>Her tone grew quieter. A little somber. Determined.</p><p>“Ever since left the hospital, I’ve been <i>searching, </i>Gleb. Searching for the truth. Searching for <i>them</i>. And I think, if—” She hesitated. “If they’re still… <i>around</i>, then my family must be looking for me too. Waiting for me.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>She turned to look briefly into his eyes. Maybe she hoped he’d offer her some sort of confirmation, or assurance. </p><p>He smiled and remained in silence, inviting her to express herself in full.</p><p>Unfortunate as it was, he couldn’t quite take part in Anya’s hope. He liked to think of himself as an optimist, yes — of a <i>rational</i> kind. And, given her circumstances, he thought it probable that she was the last surviving member of her family. In the unlikely event that she did have any remaining relatives, they might well have given her up for dead a decade ago. </p><p>“I know I’m going to find them one day,” she said resolutely. “That’s what I’ve been fighting for all this time, you know. That’s my happy ending.”</p><p>She breathed in the frosty air. As if renewing her determination. </p><p>“Well—” Gleb nodded, acknowledging her courage. “I certainly admire your strength of will, comrade.”</p><p>“…But? You don’t think I can do it?”</p><p>“I think…” He paused to calculate his wording. “I don’t doubt that you’ll do all you can. But I wonder, Anya — how <i>do</i> you plan on finding someone you can’t remember at all?” He smiled half in jest. “Not even <i>I</i> can locate a man if I haven’t a clue who he might be.”</p><p>“Right. But what you don’t know is — I have clues!” she said eagerly. “Very, very good ones.”</p><p>“Do you, now? Such as…?”</p><p>“Um — such as…” She wrung her hands — and let out a hiss as she touched her wounded palms. “<i>Ouch</i>. Such as — well, I know at least <i>someone</i> is still alive! It’s…” </p><p>She hesitated, and then chose to continue. </p><p>“It’s… an old lady,” she said tentatively. “And, I think… I think she <i>loves</i> me — or, she <i>loved</i> me — <i>more than anything</i>. Her voice is scruffy and warm. Like an old wool blanket.”</p><p>“That’s…” Gleb had to smile. “Not the most useful lead to work with.” </p><p>Anya shrugged. “Well, that’s how I remember her. I think maybe she was — <i>is —</i> my grandmother.”</p><p>Gleb squinted at the chimneys protruding from the roof, thinking.</p><p>“Do you happen to recall her name?” he asked. “Or… her husband’s? Or where she lived when you saw her last?”</p><p>“No,” Anya sighed. “I don’t even know when I actually <i>talked</i> to her for the last time. But… I see her in my dreams all the time! I mean — I can’t <i>see her</i> — I don’t know what she looks like, but I can hear her voice. I <i>hear</i> her, Gleb! I can even <i>smell</i> her perfume. She smells like orange blossoms.” </p><p>She gave him a wistful smile.</p><p>“And <i>that’s</i> why my dreams are so important to me,” she said. </p><p>“I see.” </p><p>That was the root of all this, then. The source of all her clues.</p><p>Dreams.</p><p>What little faith he’d had in this project of hers evaporated. </p><p>“But — that’s okay,” Anya said. “I’ll remember her name at some point. It doesn’t matter.” </p><p>She crouched down, gathered a large ball of snow, and leaned against the parapet once more. She pressed the snow tightly in between her palms, wincing slightly. </p><p>“They’re giving you trouble, aren’t they?” Gleb frowned as he watched her do this. “<i>Why</i>, Anya, would you insist on us climbing to the top of a five-story building if you <i>knew</i>—”</p><p>“No, shut up.” Her hands grew pale — and her fingertips crimson — as she continued. “It’s all right. I don’t bleed as much when it’s cold. I’m fine.” </p><p>She tossed the compact ice block aside. Its two flat faces had turned pink with her blood. </p><p>Gleb fought back the temptation to simply seize her wrist and see just <i>what</i> exactly she had done to her cuts. </p><p>“Anyway, the most important thing is,” Anya said, “I know what I have to do to find her! So — in my dreams about her, there’s <i>her</i> — and then there’s this little girl, and I think… I think maybe I’m <i>her</i>! And she says—”</p><p>She interrupted herself. She pursed her lips.</p><p>“Yes?” he asked. </p><p>“I— Gleb… <i>Don’t flip out</i>,” she warned him.</p><p>He tilted his head in question.</p><p>She smiled, almost in apology. “She says, ‘Take me to Paris with you.’”</p><p>The whole world seemed to screech to a halt. </p><p>Anya gazed at him intently, studying his reaction. And, he — he was frozen. stupefied. </p><p>It was like a bucket of slush had been emptied on his head. </p><p>“<i>Paris</i>?” he asked numbly.</p><p>“Paris,” she affirmed. </p><p>Paris!</p><p>The <i>one</i> place in the world every Bolshevik wished he could crush under his boot! Paris, that nest of vipers. The city every deposed Russian blueblood had escaped to, in a sad effort to save their useless lives. A bastion for anti-Soviets! A refuge for traitors and deserters and cowards. </p><p><i>Paris</i>. </p><p>Anya seemed relieved at his response — or rather, the complete absence of it. Her shoulders relaxed a little.</p><p>“Yeah, Paris. I’ve never <i>seen</i> Paris, but it sounds like such a lovely place.” Her eyes drifted up toward the sky. “Sometimes I dream about it, too. I see this city beyond <i>all</i> compare! It’s <i>nothing</i> like here in Russia — here, no one knows if they’re still gonna be alive next year! But, <i>there</i>?” </p><p>Emphatically, she shook her head. With raised arms — and increasing excitement — she mimicked the things she was seeing in her mind’s eye. </p><p>“I see — the <i>spires</i>!” she breathed. “And there’s a tower there! A famous one. And, there’s a bridge — that’s an important bridge, for some reason — don’t remember why. And… a <i>beautiful</i> river—”</p><p>“The Neva is a <i>splendidly</i> beautiful river,” Gleb snorted. </p><p>Anya froze; she blinked at him. It seemed like he’d just woken her from a trance. He regretted having interrupted her. </p><p>Or perhaps he didn’t. </p><p>Glaring at the snow, he folded his arms. </p><p>“Uh… sure.” She shrugged. “Nobody said it isn’t pretty! It’s just the one in Paris is better.”</p><p>“You have never <i>truly</i> been there,” Gleb pointed out sourly. “You’ve <i>never</i> seen—”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. I know,” she said. “It’s just a dream… <i>But</i> — it’s a <i>very real</i> dream!” She closed her eyes, indulging in the memory. “And then, when I wake up… the last thing I hear is that woman’s voice, <i>calling me</i>. Saying, ‘I’ll meet you right there, in Paris.’”</p><p>“Paris,” Gleb mumbled in despair. </p><p>“Yeah. So, <i>that’s</i> what I came here for! I came to Peters—”</p><p>“<i>Leningrad</i>, Anya—”</p><p>“Because I need to get to Paris no matter what,” she gushed on. “I knew there’d be <i>someone</i> here who could get me get there.” </p><p>Then, she glanced at him — and wavered a moment. She licked her lips. </p><p>“And, um… I mean — I never thought that someone could be<i> you</i>, but—”</p><p>“<i>Me?</i>” </p><p>“Well, you could do it if you <i>wanted</i> to!” she said in a rush. Springing upright, she bolted to stand in front of him. “And — you keep going on about how you’re my <i>friend,</i> and — you want to <i>help</i> me!”</p><p>He was shaking his head in disbelief. “Anya—”</p><p>“<i>And</i>! And — the first time I saw you, all I wanted was to get away from you,” she said. (Painfully.) “I was <i>petrified</i>! Because chekists <i>shoot you</i> when you try to get out of Russia! But — not <i>you</i>. You’re <i>not</i> like the rest of them — you’re <i>different</i>! You <i>listen</i>. You understand. Right?”</p><p>He was gaping at her in dumbstruck silence. </p><p>“Gleb—” In her urgency, she grasped his hands tightly. “Listen, I don’t need you to protect me from Plisetsky’s idiot bodyguards. If you want to do <i>something</i> for me—” Her tone went imperious to suppliant. “<i>Please</i>. This is the <i>only</i> thing I care about in the whole world. Won’t you please, <i>please</i> help me?” </p><p>And, then… Silence. Lengthening. </p><p>Like twin blue flames, her eyes drilled into his. One could’ve sworn that her very survival depended on his response. Her chest was heaving.</p><p>His mind tried and failed to process what she had just asked of him. </p><p>He had always imagined that to hear her say this — <i>won’t you please help me</i> — would have thrilled him beyond words. But, now—</p><p>Every word she’d just uttered was <i>so</i>—</p><p>No one had <i>ever</i>—</p><p>He had never heard anything so <i>repugnant</i>. So starkly opposed to <i>all</i> he stood for and believed in!</p><p>But — he had set himself up for this. Of course. He had told her she could be frank with him. That she could tell him anything. And now she had gambled <i>her life</i> on him — on <i>him</i>! Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov! — by daring to believe in his word. </p><p>And he was <i>trying</i> to understand. </p><p>He was trying.</p><p>He needed time.</p><p>He tucked a strand of her wild, gold hair behind her ear. </p><p>“I believe our time together is almost at an end,” he said. </p><p>“What?” She frowned anxiously. “No—”</p><p>“<i>Almost, </i>Anya. Not quite yet.” He smiled. “Your hands are freezing. Let’s go inside and wrap things up, shall we? And then, sadly, I’ll have to leave you for now.” </p><p>She refused; she glared — she tightened her grip on him. She waged a short, fiery battle with her own impatience. </p><p>Then she sighed, dropped her gaze, and released him.</p><p>Thus, down the ladder they went again.</p>
<hr/><p>The stolovaya’s kitchen was beginning to warm up with the heat from the stoves and ovens. Vapor filled the room as Dominik’s earliest cooks scampered back and forth, working to the beat of a dozen bubbling pots and sizzling pans.</p><p>“Now” —Gleb turned to Anya— “wash your hands. <i>Thoroughly</i>. We’ll get those cuts disinfected and bandaged, once and for all. And then we’ll talk.” </p><p>She looked like she wanted to argue. (Of course she did.) But perhaps she then decided that by obeying him she might get what she wanted from him. Giving him a fearsome scowl, she dashed off for the washroom without a word. </p><p>He sighed.</p><p>This particular young lady… this little renegade who so often acted more like a child than a woman… </p><p>His eyes scanned the kitchen for Dominik. As if by telepathy, the blond glanced in his direction as he trotted from one worktable to the next. Shouting instructions over his shoulder, he dashed over to Gleb. </p><p>“Glebchik!” he said, with his usual shameless grin. “You’re back! Did you have fun?”</p><p>“Call me that again and I’ll arrest you,” Gleb said. “I need some boiled salt water. Bandages. Irrigation syringe. Right now.” </p><p>Dominik’s white eyebrows arched as he wiped the sweat off his forehead. </p><p>“Oh, damn,” he said. “What happened to Anyechka <i>this</i> time?” </p><p>For some reason, Gleb took a moment to ponder his response. </p><p>What, indeed, was it <i>this</i> time? </p><p>Suddenly, he realized that Anya’s many sorrows were not entirely the work of fate, after all. </p><p>Gleb offered his comrade a thin smile. “Like most of her problems, it’s self-inflicted.”</p><p>“Uh…” He seemed, all at once, confused and worried. “Is she gonna be okay?”</p><p>“Just do as I say, Dominik.” </p><p>With that, Gleb marched off and washed his hands scrupulously. When Anya emerged from the bathroom, he had everything laid out on the small two-person table at the corner of the lunchroom. </p><p>Her eyes zeroed in on the syringe with some anxiety. “Gleb… What do you think this is — a surgery room?” </p><p>“<i>This</i> has the sole purpose of cleansing your cuts, Anya.” He held up the small, blunt-tipped instrument, as to emphasize its harmlessness. </p><p>He gestured for her to have a seat. Somewhat reluctantly, she complied. </p><p>He sat down next to her and took her wrist. Holding it above the empty tin bowl Dominik had provided, he paused a minute to study her injuries. As he dreaded, the nicks on her palms were now slightly larger than before, bleeding freely, and colored an angry scarlet hue. </p><p>Fortunately, he could not see flecks of iron encrusted in the wounds.</p><p>“Don’t you think you’re taking this too far?” she asked tensely. </p><p>“No, I don’t.” </p><p>She bit her lip. “Will it hurt?” </p><p>“It should not.” He pressed his palm to the other bowl — the glass one containing the saline solution — making sure that it was tolerably warm. “If it does, let me know. I’ll pour this on Dominik’s head, and then I’ll have him prepare a new batch of this correctly.”  </p><p>She cracked a smile at this assurance. Hopefully, that’d mitigate her nerves somewhat.</p><p>He squirted a jet of warm salt water into the first cut.  </p><p>Anya gasped silently. Her fingers twitched. Immediately, he stopped. </p><p>He studied her face, searching for signs of pain. “Does it sting?” </p><p>“No,” she said. “Sorry — it’s… I just didn’t know what that was going to feel like. I’m all right.”</p><p>“Are you <i>sure</i>, Anya?”</p><p>An eye-roll. “Just hurry up and get it done! I don’t want to sit here doing this forever.” </p><p>Gleb nodded and resumed the cleansing. </p><p>The saline water trickled down into the empty bowl — carrying with it dozens of minute black and red specks.</p><p>“Whoa,” she breathed. “What is <i>that</i>?”</p><p>He tilted the bowl so she could see the residue more clearly. </p><p>“By irrigating a wound, you can flush out any small debris there might have been embedded in it,” he explained. “<i>Saline</i> water is especially handy for treating shallow wounds like yours. It should keep you from contracting an infection from the rust powder you see here.” </p><p>Amazement flickered across her expression. “I thought you were just being paranoid.” </p><p>“Paranoia can be useful in my profession.” He moved on to the second cut. “As you can see, it pays off.”</p><p>More fine specks of rust trickled into the bowl. Paying close attention, Anya watched him work. Soon, a pleasant silence descended between them. </p><p>Gleb exhaled a deep breath. The tension in his shoulders abated. </p><p>This quiet lull seemed to calm and clear his mind. With this newfound sense of perspective, he pondered how he must respond to Anya’s confession.</p><p>This was <i>terribly</i> problematic. Her intentions to escape the country perfectly matched the coerced statements of guilt he so often read in his subordinates’ reports. Statements he mechanically signed and filed away as legal justification for a man’s execution. <i>Strictly speaking</i> — in accordance with Article 58 of the Soviet Criminal Code — there was only <i>one</i> thing for him to do now that she had admitted to this — but… </p><p>But… No.</p><p>He would <i>never.</i> Anya did <i>not</i> deserve to—</p><p>He lightly adjusted his grip on her wrist. He centered his mind on the warm softness of her skin. </p><p>This was the first time he had ever <i>truly</i> touched her, he realized. The ever-present leather barrier of his gloves wasn’t there this time to mute the contact between his hands and hers.</p><p>The precious, steady pulse of her heartbeat grounded him. Reaffirmed him in his choice.</p><p>The fourth wound had now been flushed. Putting the syringe aside, he carefully patted her hand dry with the coarse cotton towel Dominik had supplied for this. </p><p>He expected Anya would protest. He thought she might view the gesture as condescending; that she would yank her hand free with some dignified retort and then keep drying off her small, dainty fingers herself. </p><p>Yet, she didn’t. As he took her other wrist, he risked a furtive glance at her. Her gaze was resolutely fixed on the interlocked pastel roses on the tablecloth. </p><p>To his surprise, her face was flushed with a delicate crimson glow. </p><p>His heart skittered as it had when he’d first laid eyes on her. </p><p>He began cleaning the cuts on her other hand. </p><p>And, then he knew — if now he was refusing to act as his duty demanded — as <i>Russia</i> demanded — it was not because he was neglectful. Or cowardly. Or antipatriotic. </p><p>And certainly, Anya was <i>not</i> above the law. </p><p>She was simply… Young. Reckless. Confused and lost. </p><p>After all — for the past decade, she’d had no one to direct her footsteps, other than her own delusions and these malignant voices in her head. What she needed was <i>guidance</i>, not punishment. Good counsel, containment, proper mentorship. Time.</p><p>He began wrapping the bandage around her wrist. </p><p>“Paris is no place for a good and loyal Russian, Anya,” he said calmly.</p><p>Her muscles tensed underneath her skin.</p><p>“We’re <i>both</i> good and loyal Russians,” she hurried to say. </p><p>“And Russia is our home.”</p><p>Her hand slipped out of his grasp. She held it to her chest, as if in self-defense, the loose bandage trailing at her elbow. “So you’re <i>not</i> going to—”</p><p>“I <i>am</i>,” Gleb assured her. “I <i>will</i> assist you. Simply not in the way you have in mind.”  </p><p>Her brows scrunched together. “What do you mean?” </p><p>“I <i>could</i>, of course, give you exactly what you want from me,” he said. “I could obtain the right papers for you and put you on a train to Paris tomorrow. <i>Hypothetically</i>, yes. I could do it quite easily.” </p><p>“But… you won’t,” she said. </p><p>“<i>Never</i> in a thousand lifetimes.”</p><p>Her eyes widened. She froze a moment as she tried to assimilate his response. Her shoulders drooped under the weight of her disappointment. </p><p>Gently, he reclaimed her wrist and started to redo the bandaging.</p><p>“Why?” she asked quietly.</p><p>“Why, indeed?” Gleb said. “That is <i>just</i> the question I want you to ask yourself.”</p><p>“I guess that’s just the way you are,” she sighed. “I knew it all along, really. There was just… this <i>small </i>part of me that wanted to <i>try</i>—”</p><p>“And I’m very glad you confided in me. I needed to know about this. Anya—” With the first bandage now firmly in place, he grasped her shoulder. “I don’t want you to think I’m indifferent to your troubles. Tell me: Who provides for you and <i>cares</i> for you more than I?”</p><p>She glared at the tablecloth, refusing to answer. </p><p>Gleb smiled and waited. </p><p>“No one,” she muttered finally. </p><p>“Therefore, wouldn’t you say I have your best interests at heart?” </p><p>“But what does that matter if you don’t <i>get it</i>?” Her fiery gaze met his. “Gleb, <i>the only thing</i> I’ve ever wanted — ever since I left Yekaterinburg—”</p><p>“Yekaterinburg?” he asked, perplexed.</p><p>“That’s where I come from,” Anya said matter-of-factly. “That’s where I woke up when it all began.” </p><p>He briefly struggled to absorb this fact. He <i>had</i> heard her say she’d traveled quite the distance to get here, but—</p><p>“Yekaterinburg is a thousand miles away from here,” he mumbled. </p><p>“That’s what it felt like,” she said. “But I never cared. I never stopped. I always just kept walking — because I <i>knew</i> it, Gleb! I <i>knew</i> I was going to get to Paris or die trying—”</p><p>“And that leads me <i>precisely</i> to the point I’m trying to make.” Helplessly, he could hear the agitation in his voice slowly increasing. “Anya — have you forgotten how <i>desolate</i> you were yesterday? Can’t you see just how much damage you’ve done to yourself? Drifting from one city to the next, like a leaf in the wind — with no money, no papers, no job stability! <i>All</i> in the name of chasing after <i>dreams</i>—”</p><p>“What if I don’t care what I have to go through?” she snapped. “What if I just want to get back everything Russia took away from me?” Her fists — clenching on the table. “Home, love, family — it’s not a crime to want those things! There must’ve been a time I had them—”</p><p>“And you can have them again,” Gleb said. <i>Firmly</i>. “Right here in our motherland. In<i> your</i> motherland.”</p><p>A second elapsed, charged with silence. He stared gravely, irreducibly, into her eyes. </p><p>He was amazed at how evenly she glared back. </p><p>“You don’t understand,” she growled quietly. </p><p>“How ironic you should say that,” he retorted.</p><p>“You don’t know what it’s like not to know who you are!”</p><p>Then he felt — subtly, ominously — the first mild throb of migraine, pulsating behind his eyes. He rubbed at his temple in a vain attempt to alleviate it. </p><p>The temptation to shut down the conversation at this point was strong. But, no — he could not afford to be the retreating party; this would only reinforce her conviction in the righteousness of her cause. He must hope that, despite appearances, she was not beyond reasoning with. </p><p>A solid line of argumentation came to his rescue.</p><p>“In that you are right,” he conceded. “I can’t say I do. And, perhaps, that puts me in an ideal position to <i>truly</i> help you. You might say I have a more <i>dispassionate</i> point of view.” </p><p>He tried to mellow his tone as he spoke. Hoping he could get her to let her guard down. </p><p>Cautiously, her eyes narrowed.</p><p>“For instance, Anya, answer me <i>this</i>,” he said. “How do you know there’s <i>any</i> truth at all to these dreams you cling to so fervently? How can you be sure that they’ll lead you to your family? In short: on what <i>evidence</i> do you hold to them?” </p><p>This appeared to take her by surprise. She pursed her lips as she tried to formulate an answer. </p><p>“I mean… I’ve never really thought about it <i>that</i> way,” she said. “But — all I can say — it’s like, somehow, I just know it! I—”</p><p>Gleb’s eyebrows rose. “You just… <i>know</i> it.”</p><p>He smiled at her with utter skepticism. She stared back defiantly — but she betrayed herself by shifting in her seat, ever so slightly. </p><p>“That is fairly potent wishful thinking, hm?”</p><p>“<i>No.</i>” She sprang to her feet; her chair sent a screech echoing across the room. “Gleb — listen to me! Maybe I don’t <i>know</i> how I know it, but it’s the truth! It’s <i>not</i> just—”</p><p>“Do you hold on to all your convictions like this, Anya?” he questioned, still calmly seated. “You just… <i>irrationally</i> cling to them? With no proof at all to back them up?”</p><p>She struggled to find her words.</p><p>“It’s… I mean — <i>no</i> — but <i>this</i>—”</p><p>“What do you think would happen if I took <i>half</i> as many risks as you have, based on nothing but my own assumptions?” Gleb continued. “Just imagine: ‘Deputy Commissioner! What shall we do with these prisoners?’ ‘Oh, release them all! <i>I just know</i> they mean no harm.’”</p><p>She breathed in sharply, stifling a sigh.</p><p>“I don’t know,” she muttered. </p><p>“Guess.” </p><p>“You’d get fired?” </p><p>“If I were lucky!” he chuckled. “More likely, I’d be shot.”</p><p>She stared at him in horror, and he realized too late she didn’t quite share his sense of humor. He wished he hadn’t mentioned that one grim morsel of realism. </p><p>At least, now her surge of frustration had finally burned out. She slumped in her seat again, resting her chin on crossed forearms. </p><p>“Well, good thing I don’t have your job,” she said morosely. </p><p>“Still, my argument stands. It would kill me to see you throw your life away just as pointlessly.”</p><p>“But it’s not <i>pointless</i>,” she tried again — in a more subdued spirit. “Gleb, just… <i>All</i> I’m saying is — years of dreams just <i>can’t</i> be wrong.”</p><p>But, to his relief, now there was the faintest trace of doubt in her voice.</p><p>Gently taking her wrist again — taking advantage of this bout of tameness — he began to bandage her other hand. </p><p>“Or… can they?” he questioned. “For ten long years now, I have dreamt of a Russia that wasn’t crippled by hunger and unrest. Still, even in our brave new land, there’s some distance between hope and fact — and I know better than to let my dreams blind me to reality. Thus, each day, I simply wake up in the dark of morning, and I try to rebuild what’s been put in my care.”</p><p>Now, at long last, he had successfully treated and wrapped up both her hands. An unexpectedly difficult mission — accomplished. He neatly set the instruments aside, clearing up some space on the table and in his mind. </p><p>Anya scowled down at her bandages as she sulked. She was annoyed, of course, but… If he may be so optimistic, now she seemed almost vulnerable. Open.</p><p>With genuine candor, Gleb laid his hand on hers. </p><p>Surprised, she looked up at him.</p><p>“If I may be so forward,” he confessed quietly, “<i>you</i> are one of those things. <i>Somehow</i>, Anya, you wound up in my path — and now my duty to you is to help you <i>rise up</i> from the ashes of your past. Can you believe that?”  </p><p>She rolled her eyes. Turned away. </p><p>Tilting her chin, he had her face him again. “Speak to me, please. Well? Can you?”</p><p>“<i>Yes.</i>”</p><p>“Thank you.” He fleetingly caressed her cheek before twining his hands on the table once more. “And I promise you I’ll do all I can to assist you… Once you’re ready to settle down and start rebuilding all you’ve lost, here in Leningrad.”</p><p>Finally, they were nearing the end of this conversation. Propping his elbows on the table, he leaned forward. </p><p>Her eyes — smoldering like coals once more, angry and defiant — snapped up to meet his. </p><p>“I truly hate to disappoint you,” he said sternly. “But as Deputy Commissioner of this city… what’s more, <i>as your friend</i>… I will <i>never</i> help you run off after these fantasies that are poisoning your heart. <i>Never</i>, Anya. I’d sooner die.”</p><p>All of this — saying these words, being engaged in this stare-down with her — it was all very disquieting. </p><p>He felt the need to explain himself.</p><p>“Your life isn’t something you can gamble away on dreams alone,” he said, much more softly. “Not to mention — Paris is a nest of rats, and <i>you</i> do not belong there. Anya, <i>please</i> — tell me you understand.” </p><p>Again, there was silence. </p><p>At last, she lowered her eyes and nodded — in quiet, meek, absolutely false submission.</p><p>“Sure,” she droned. “Sorry I asked. Thanks anyway, Gleb.” </p><p>He knew then that her faith in him had just suffered a crippling blow. All on their own, his fingers anxiously drummed on the table while he searched for words. </p><p>Alas, there was nothing more he could say. </p><p>On the far side of the room, the framed clock on the wall chimed. 8:00 AM. </p><p>“Well.” He stood and offered to help her up, in an attempt at joviality. “<i>That</i> is the sound of our nation summoning me to duty! I must be off, dear friend.” </p><p>She nodded with a sort of weary apathy. </p><p>Ignoring his outstretched hand, she got to her feet. She accompanied him to the stolovaya’s entrance in an almost foreboding silence. </p><p>At the door, she bid him goodbye with a painful amount of fake sweetness.</p><p>“Okay — bye, then!” she said, her smile bright and cold as the winter sun. “Good luck! Have fun executing people today, comrade!”</p><p>She could be cruel when she wanted to be. </p><p>He could only hope that by tomorrow he’d be forgiven.</p>
<hr/><p>The sun had lit up the sky in earnest by the time he arrived at the headquarters of the Cheka. </p><p>Despite this fact, it seemed to him as though the day had become grayer and colder. A strange heaviness in his heart prevented him even from being irritated at the customary furtive whispers he heard people exchanging on the street.</p><p>Taking up his place in front of his desk, he tuned out the jabber of his subordinates — again, Fyodora and Volkov, bickering in his office — as he closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead. He desperately wished he could snuff out the sun’s grating light — that he could block out their prattle, the distant clacking of footsteps and typewriters, the pounding in his head, the ticking, the surprisingly sickening smell of tea.</p><p>Migraine. </p><p>Most especially, he could no longer stand the sound of his own voice — ringing in his ears again and again as his mind revisited today’s unfortunate exchange with Anya against his will. </p><p>He could not shake off the nagging sense of dread that conversation had left him with.</p><p>What would happen if she were to flee from Leningrad? No — it was not a matter of <i>if</i>, but <i>when</i>. So, then what? </p><p>Obviously, soon she would attempt to make contact with some sort of migrant smuggler — someone who could help her get her hands on a forged passport as soon as possible. Knowing her, in fact, she might have already done so. </p><p>And — what <i>then</i>?</p><p>He became aware of one more noise adding itself to the cacophony around him: the repetitive tapping of his pencil on the desk. That one he chose to bear with. It provided a means for him to let out some anxiety.</p><p>There were three pathways he could see lurking ahead in Anya’s future. </p><p>Path one — the likeliest. Like thousands of migrants before her, she would fail in her attempt to escape the country; she would be arrested and exiled to the gulags. If she was lucky. In the worst-case scenario, she would be shot.</p><p>Path two. <i>Improbably</i>, if she moved with exceptional cleverness and luck, she <i>might</i> make it across the border — and then her long and hazardous journey across Europe would begin. If she were to run into <i>one</i> man as vile as this Boris Plisetsky along the way, then almost certainly, she would not survive.</p><p>And, path three. Somehow, she would set foot in Paris. She would discover the hard way that dreams were dreams, and that she’d stood a greater chance of finding herself in Russia than in France. She would also discover that life on the streets was just as harsh in the West as it was in Leningrad. And, by this time, it would be too late for her to return home. </p><p>The pencil’s tapping got faster and faster as he contemplated these things. </p><p>The rational half of him demanded to know why these thoughts were as unbearable to him as they were. After all, if she was so reckless as to throw her life away like this — in a grievous act of disdain for their country, no less! — then did she not, truly, deserve to die? Where had his indifference for other humans fled to when he needed it most? When — and why — had he lost perspective? </p><p>And, yet, he could not will himself not to care about her. </p><p>Thus, in light of her obstinacy… Would he — <i>could</i> he — simply look the other way as the girl dashed off to her ruin? </p><p>No.</p><p>“Uh… no what?” Fyodora said.</p><p>Suddenly, both she and Volkov had stopped babbling. They were staring at him in an inquisitive manner that made him squirm. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said, “come again?” </p><p>“You said, ‘No.’” She raised a brow at him. “No what? Who’re you saying no to — Volkov or me?” </p><p>Slouching in his seat, arms folded, Volkov smirked. “I think Vaganov stopped paying attention to you like an hour ago.”</p><p>A surge of heat began to crawl up Gleb’s neck. </p><p>And — hot on its heels — a flash of inspiration. </p><p>He stood up. Their eyes followed him as he paced back and forth across the room. “Hmm.” </p><p>“What?” Fyodora demanded.</p><p>“What is it?” Volkov said.</p><p>There were only so many ways Anya could get out of Leningrad.</p><p>Gleb had control over all of them.</p><p>“Volkov,” he began, “a query for you, on the Anastasia investigation.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Aside from Dmitry and Popov,” Gleb asked, “how many other conmen are hoping to present their Anastasias to the Dowager Empress?”</p><p>“Heh!” The assassin grinned. “I’m betting on two out of three! <i>Minimum</i>. Why?”</p><p>“What does <i>this</i> have to do with what I was saying?” Fyodora sighed.</p><p>“Two out of three.” Gleb paced, pretending to consider. “That number is an insult to our authority.” </p><p>“I tell you, Boss,” Volkov said, “this is like a roach infestation! As long as you don’t <i>crush them all</i>, there’ll just be more and more of them.”</p><p>“Mm.” Gleb stopped by the window and looked down on the drab horde of people hobbling by. Indeed, two thirds of the citizenry were likely complicit in this deception as well. How infuriating. “Yes.”</p><p>He glanced back at his underlings. </p><p>Volkov seemed surprised that he was being taken seriously. Meanwhile, Fyodora was idly scribbling on her clipboard and reviewing her checklists.</p><p>They were about to make themselves useful. </p><p>“Volkov, Fyodora,” Gleb commanded. “Present, arms!” </p><p>As one, they leapt to their feet and saluted. </p><p>“Comrade Deputy Commissioner!” they chorused. “Sir!”</p><p>Gleb paused a moment to bask in his own authority. Savor the glorious hierarchical beauty of this moment.</p><p>A sharp jolt of pain behind his eyes.</p><p>“At attention, comrades,” he instructed, unimpressively pinching the bridge of his nose. “I have new orders for you.” </p><p>Volkov and Fyodora eased into position, hands behind their backs, and listened intently. </p><p>“Volkov,” Gleb began, “organize your men. Tonight, you will comb all known hubs of passport bartering. Storm every rathole where a migrant trafficker might be hiding — but let a few of them go. Conscript them as informants.” He briefly turned to glare out the window. “We are going to send a message to all would-be Anastasias and their smugglers. And we’ll create a bottleneck to lure them in.”</p><p>“Sir! Yes, Sir!” Volkov saluted with a surge of excitement. </p><p>“<i>Well!</i>” Fyodora quipped, “Looks like the boss is <i>finally</i> setting his foot down on the masses!” </p><p>“About damn time,” Volkov said.</p><p>“<i>Silence</i>,” Gleb snapped. “The two of you will serve in the ditches tomorrow for this breach in discipline.”</p><p>Fyodora’s shoulders slumped. Volkov shot her an acrid look.</p><p>“Yes, Sir,” they both mumbled.</p><p>“Fyodora,” Gleb continued. “Today, you will approach the Commissioner for Rail Transport on my behalf. Let him know that, until further notice, train tickets will be unobtainable to ordinary citizens — unless they have acquired a transit permit from us in advance.”</p><p>Her eyebrows rose. “That’s going to be lots of paperwork on our desks.” </p><p>“Dire measures for dire times,” Gleb responded. “We want to tighten our chokehold on Dmitry and his ilk… And, of course, illegal migrants in general. Exemplary, law-abiding citizens will have nothing to worry about.”</p><p>As he spoke, he resumed his pacing, thinking.</p><p>What conditions would make it <i>impossible</i> for Anya to obtain a permit, even if she managed to get her hands on fake papers after Volkov’s raid? </p><p>“The requirements themselves will be simple,” he announced. “Applicants must simply submit their personal identification papers. Birth certificate. Proof of purchase or rental agreement at a property destined for residential use — and validly registered as such. Lastly, proof of financial and occupational stability: a legal track record of at least five years’ work under the same employer.” </p><p>Fyodora’s clipboard jigged as she scrawled down his instructions.</p><p>“Huh.” Volkov crossed his arms pensively. “I almost don’t qualify to get my ticket to Moscow this year! With these new rules.” </p><p>Gleb rolled his eyes. “<i>Obviously</i>, these restrictions will not apply to government employees. Or known supporters of the Bolshevik party.” </p><p>“I guess it <i>was</i> about time we reminded the people who’s in charge here,” Fyodora mused, stowing her pencil away in her ponytail. “If they won’t bend their knee to our <i>new</i> Russia, then we’ll just have to keep turning up the heat on them like this, a little bit at a time, until they do.” She smiled sweetly. “It’s like giving someone a <i>loving</i> kick in the shins! A little shove in the right direction.” </p><p>“Well stated, comrade.” Gleb nodded his approval. “Now, both of you, fulfill your duty. You are dismissed.” </p><p>His assistant and his spies’ commandant saluted him — and then, finally, they were gone. </p><p>Alone at last, he shut the door and went to sit at his desk again. All but collapsing in his chair, he closed his eyes and released a sigh of relief. Inhaled the quiet.</p><p>His social energy was absolutely spent.</p><p>At least, now he no longer needed to worry about Anya’s fixation with running off to Paris.</p><p>As he loaded the paper in his typewriter — a stack of pending paperwork towering right next to it — he could not help but question his own good judgment once again.</p><p>How could a girl like her ever willingly become a chekist’s wife? </p><p>If he was going to pick a young woman to pine for, why could it not be someone less troublesome? Why not, for instance, someone like Fyodora? <i>She</i> certainly believed in the Soviet way. And, as added bonuses, she was fairly competent and not too annoying to deal with. Rationally speaking, these qualities <i>should</i> earn her a decent Acceptability Score, by Gleb’s standards. </p><p>His shoulders hunched up with revulsion at this idea. </p><p>And, unbidden, a memory came to visit him. The feather-light pressure of Anya’s lips kissing his shoulder.</p><p>Anya.</p><p>She was a creature of pure sunlight. A phoenix, untamed — and perhaps untamable. Streaking across the starless winter sky and setting it aglow with her fire. </p><p>How <i>could </i>he ever lay eyes on anyone else, now that he had found <i>her</i>? Now that he had met her and seen her and beheld her radiance — so that at this point he had been bedazzled, <i>blinded</i>, by her light?</p><p>It would be criminally stupid of him <i>not</i> to want her.</p><p>And he wanted her. And someday — he was determined — he <i>would</i> have her. And she would be his. </p><p>But — more importantly still, he wanted her <i>alive</i>. He wanted her safe and sound — and firmly rooted in Leningrad, where he could steadily, patiently, lure her to himself. Erode her defenses until he had quite literally seduced her away from her dreams. For her own good.</p><p>Satisfied with these musings, Gleb nodded to himself. He let his fingers hover over the typewriter’s round, cool, iron keys, getting reacquainted with the location of each character. </p><p>And then, with some peace of mind at last, he filed the girl away in some accessible corner of his mind. The keys clacked and rattled as he began outlining the requirements of the new permit he was about to pass into law. </p><p>Anya was never going to leave Leningrad. </p><p>He would see to it. </p>
<hr/><p>“Okay — bye, then!” Anya said, waving and smiling. “Good luck! Have fun executing people today, comrade!”</p><p>As he stood at the bottom of the front steps, Gleb looked at her as if she’d just stabbed him with a fork. That made her feel a little bit guilty about being passive-aggressive to him, but not really. </p><p>With one last, rueful smile, he nodded ‘goodbye’ to her, turned, and walked away.</p><p>Anya stepped inside and shut the door so hard the glass panes quaked. </p><p>The first few customers of the day turned to stare at her. She ignored them. Standing by the door, she scowled at her own feet as she counted the seconds in her head. </p><p>She let one minute pass. Two. </p><p>There — three minutes. </p><p>She opened the door again and peeked outside. It looked like Gleb had finally gone off to get innocent people arrested. </p><p>Even from this far away, she could hear all the noises from the kitchen: the hissing from the pressure pots, the clattering from people washing forks and plates in a hurry and carting stuff around. </p><p>And, behind it all, Dominik. Rattling off instructions rapid-fire like he had infinite energy. Like he had eight eyes and could see everything.</p><p>Well, the good thing was: right now he couldn’t see <i>her</i>. </p><p>For the past twenty-four hours, her two Bolshevik somehow-friends had conspired to take away as much of her privacy as they could. Gleb was paranoid about the whole Plisetsky thing, so he’d told Dominik not to let her out of his sight for even one hour. And Dominik was dead set on doing his job right. Now he took breaks during work to check on her. (So many breaks.) If she wanted to go <i>anywhere</i>, he had to tag along. And, now that she actually <i>lived</i> here, he’d gone so far as to haul in some blankets — one for her, one for him — and from now on, he was going to sleep in the lunchroom. Until the thugs that wanted her dead had been put in jail. </p><p>But he didn’t have time to babysit her right now. </p><p>Quietly — as if being quiet actually mattered — Anya slipped outside. </p><p>The overcrowded Nevsky avenue smelled like exhaust smoke. Everywhere — busy people hurrying somewhere. And then, there were the beggars and tramps that almost felt like family to her — huddled on the doorsteps, gossiping while they took swigs of cheap vodka from the bottles in their hands.</p><p>No sign of Plisetsky’s swine-monkeys anywhere. That was good. </p><p>So Anya did the thing she was best at doing. She set off for nowhere in particular. Walking.</p><p>She walked fast. She needed to be in motion, to feel like she was marching on, moving forward. </p><p>As she walked, she looked at her hands. </p><p>She wasn’t sure if she liked these bandages. Part of her mind was saying they were okay. They almost felt like they were an extension of Gleb, weirdly. Just like him, they were soft. And firm. They were warm, even — and they’d stopped the bleeding. But, at the same time, wearing them she felt… <i>tied up</i>. Because, well, she couldn’t cook like this! If somebody popped out of an alley and tried to kill her again, how was she supposed to defend herself? She couldn’t! She couldn’t do <i>anything</i> with these on! It made her anxious.</p><p>Actually, she felt <i>more</i> than anxious.</p><p>She started picking up speed. She was going fast enough that now she could shoulder people out of her way, and they cussed at her, but she ignored them, and that helped her let off some steam. It was kind of satisfying.  </p><p>She couldn’t run away from herself, though. And in her cluttered headspace, she remembered things, <i>felt</i> things. Disturbing things. </p><p>She felt warm, salty water, trickling between her fingers. Gleb’s large, callused hands, holding her wrist like he was being careful not to break her. And her own heart, thundering — her gut in a twist and her face flooding with heat — <i>burning</i> — as he rinsed her cuts.</p><p>What would happen if she ever actually fell in love with Gleb?</p><p>What if it had already begun? </p><p>She wasn’t going fast enough. She sped up, walked faster — but the wind didn’t have that nice, chilling bite to it anymore. Her face had started to heat up all over again.</p><p>By this point, she could safely admit to herself that she... <i>liked</i> him. <i>Maybe</i>. A little bit. </p><p>And — that wasn’t weird at all! He was <i>handsome</i>. He was kind. He was way, <i>way</i> more patient with her than he should — and he was her friend — her first friend. And he made her laugh and get all excited and chatter away like a little girl. </p><p>And that was as far as she was willing to go. </p><p>It was as far as she <i>could</i> go. This <i>thing</i> they had going was already <i>too much</i>. All this touching. Kissing. Had this <i>ever</i> been just plain, harmless friendship to begin with? </p><p>She had never felt like this before. </p><p>It was terrifying.</p><p>But above all, it was <i>unfair</i>! No matter how <i>he</i> felt about her, Gleb really shouldn’t — <i>couldn’t</i> — make her love him! She did <i>not</i> love him, and could <i>not</i> love him, and would <i>never</i> love him. She couldn’t afford to love anyone until she was in Paris. Safe and happy with her family, where she belonged. </p><p>Her heartbeat quickened; her steps kept speeding up. In a burst of… some angry feeling, she tore off the bandages. The gauze tumbled and drifted away in the wind. The bloodied dressing pads fell to the ground. </p><p>And — she ran. </p><p>She ran as fast she could. Almost in a panic. </p><p>She needed to get away from him. Get away before he could assault her again with his deep, soft, sweet, warm voice and his toxic words about how she should forget about Paris. </p><p>If she wouldn’t fight for her dreams, no one else would. It’d taken her a while to figure that out — but now she knew. </p><p>Dmitry wanted to use her for money. </p><p>Gleb wanted to keep her stuck in Petersburg forever.</p><p>So which of the two was the lesser evil? </p><p>Which of them would take her where she needed to go? </p><p>Skidding around corners, careening through the crowd, she ran all the way to the Yusupov Palace. Dmitry and Vlad were not in the theater. She found them in the cheese room — and now the two conmen were staring wide-eyed at her. They’d been sitting at the little round table and nibbling on their stone-hard bread, downing it with sips of murky water. </p><p>Dmitry’s wily mind instantly predicted what was about to happen. He smirked. </p><p>Glaring at him, Anya had to take a minute to catch her breath. </p><p>She was going to hate herself for this. But she really shouldn’t. </p><p>There was no shame in conning a conman.</p><p>“Anya!” Dmitry stood up, his arms spread wide. “My good friend, pal, comrade! Where’d you run off to yesterday? Here Vlad and I <i>almost</i> thought you’d—” </p><p>“No, shut up.” She marched over to the center of the room. She glared at them with grim determination, hands on her hips. </p><p>The conmen were almost holding their breath as they stared at her.</p><p>“So I changed my mind,” she announced. “Maybe I <i>am</i> the Romanovs’ little lost princess, after all. Who knows! I guess we might as well find out, right?” </p><p>Dmitry liked what he was hearing. He rubbed his hands. “That’s what <i>I’ve</i> been—”</p><p>“So let’s do this,” Anya said. “I’ll do <i>one</i> audition for you, Dmitry. Just <i>one</i>. Right now.”</p></div>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Things My Heart Used to Know</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yo. :) </p><p>I decided to try posting a shorter chapter this time. I think I miiiight stick to this more manageable format in the future. It's not as content-rich, which I dislike -- and I think the chapter count is going to just absolutely explode as a result, but... ah well! :) It allows for more regular posting, which means I can make my readers a little happier! So it's worth it. </p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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  <p>“So let’s do this,” Anya said. “I’ll do <i>one</i> audition for you, Dmitry. Just <i>one</i>. Right now.”</p>
  <p>She thought it was a pretty grand declaration. She stood up straight, her head held high and her hands on her hips, as she said it.</p>
  <p>If she was going to play this game of pretend, she may as well do it with a bit of dignity. </p>
  <p>It took the conmen a moment to catch up with her. In that one second, Vlad actually dropped the chunk of bread he’d been holding as he stood up <i>slowly</i> from his seat. Dmitry balled his fists in the air, looking like a dog that’s just found a giant slab of meat in a dumpster. Then they grinned at each other.</p>
  <p>“Excellent choice, my dear!” Vlad said, rushing over to pat her eagerly on the shoulder. </p>
  <p>Meanwhile, Dmitry punched his palm gleefully. “<i>That’s</i> the spirit, Anya!” He grabbed the table by its edges and hauled it over to the far side of the room — opening a wide patch of dusty flooring in the center of it. “Now’s your chance to steal this show!” </p>
  <p>Anya rolled her eyes, hoping to water down their over-eagerness. </p>
  <p>“So what am I supposed to do now?” she huffed. </p>
  <p>“Do whatever you feel like,” Dmitry said. “Improvise. The stage is yours! Here—”</p>
  <p>He dashed to the row of rusty old chairs by the wall and started rummaging in a tattered, green-grayish shoulder bag. His fist came back out gripping a small, round trinket about the size of an orange. </p>
  <p>“All right!” he said. “See what you can do with <i>this</i>. Catch!”</p>
  <p>He lobbed the thing at her. Anya caught it in midair — and almost dropped it. It was heavy! It was some kind of jewel box— </p>
  <p>No. </p>
  <p>No — it wasn’t a jewel box. She had never seen this thing before — but somehow, weirdly, she knew what it was. It was… </p>
  <p>“A music box!” she whispered.</p>
  <p>“Yeah,” Dmitry said smugly. “I thought our Anastasia could use some props. That looks pretty convincing, too. Maybe it was a gift from your dead, royal mom, or something.”</p>
  <p>Next to her, Vlad scoffed. Meanwhile, Anya was lightly brushing her fingertips over the trinket’s golden brass lid. There were scratches and dents all over it — but it still had some glossy patches here and there. There was an initial embossed on it: the letter ‘A’. She trailed her finger along its cold, smooth surface — slowly, if it were an old, comforting ritual. She felt like she’d rested her eyes on the delicate engravings that swirled around this monogram a million times before. </p>
  <p>It was so uncanny!</p>
  <p>She looked at Dmitry — to wrench her eyes away from the thing. “Where did you get this?”  </p>
  <p>“The black market,” Vlad snorted. He shook his head as he began to pace around the room. “Dmitry thinks it’ll help us convince the Dowager Empress that our Anastasia is the real one, <i>somehow</i>.”</p>
  <p>“It could work,” Dmitry said, shrugging defensively. </p>
  <p>“There’s more to being Anastasia than wearing a tiara, you know?” his comrade retorted.</p>
  <p>“Not much! Look how many people <i>you</i> fooled!”</p>
  <p>“It’s pretty enough, I’ll grant you that,” Vlad said impatiently, pointing at the trinket. “But it’s not going to get us <i>anywhere</i> with the Dowager Empress. You can’t even get it to open — <i>because it’s a fake!</i>”</p>
  <p>“Oh, be quiet,” Dmitry snapped, crossing his long arms and legs as he leaned against the wall. “What do <i>you</i> know, anyway?”</p>
  <p>Vlad gave a sarcastic little laugh. “<i>No one</i> spots a fake like <i>Count</i> Vladimir Popov.”</p>
  <p>At this point, Anya stopped listening. As if pulled by gravity, her eyes again fell on the music box. Now its weight felt so eerily familiar. As if there’d been a time when she’d never gone <i>anywhere</i> without it. </p>
  <p>Absurdly, she was sure she could get it to open.</p>
  <p>Her heart suddenly gave a loud, hard <i>thump</i> against her ribcage. Her fingers slid down the time-worn, sapphire-colored enamel on the box’s body… and found the little silver key <i>exactly</i> where it was supposed to be: discreetly tucked away beneath the tiny, protective flap door on the bottom of the box. </p>
  <p>Gently — <i>carefully</i> — she twisted the key. Once. Twice. Three times.</p>
  <p>The latch under the lid snapped loose with a soft click.</p>
  <p>With trembling hands, she opened the box. </p>
  <p>“Whoa! Wait — hold on!” That was Dmitry’s voice. “<i>What—</i>? <i>How</i> did you—”</p>
  <p>“<i>Hush!</i>” Vlad hissed urgently.</p>
  <p>But Anya wasn’t really paying attention to them. A soft tune had just filled the room. It was a little bit different from what it was supposed to sound like. A little faint, a little off-key. But it was still light and calming, like the scent of orange blossoms wafting in the air. </p>
  <p>The two little ceramic figures inside the box — a man clad in white-and-gold uniform, so regal-looking, and a woman in a flowing gown — began to spin around and around in their pivot, dancing. Like they were both frozen in one eternal, happy moment.</p>
  <p>And… it was <i>such</i> a gentle melody.</p>
  <p>“Far away,” Anya found herself whispering, “long ago… Glowing dim as… an ember?”</p>
  <p>Did she really know the words to this? </p>
  <p>The rhyming verses to this poem started taking shape in her mind, all on their own, as she went along. </p>
  <p>Suddenly, this strange little tune wasn’t new to her. She knew the cadence to this. She knew the tone and the rhythm. She knew it all so well! </p>
  <p>“Things my heart — used to know?” she gushed more than sang. “Things it yearns to remember!” </p>
  <p>Then her voice eased into the melody seamlessly. </p>
  <p>And she could hear a soft, beloved voice singing with her in her heart. </p>
  <p>
    <i>‘And a song someone sings,</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>‘Once upon a December.’</i>
  </p>
  <p>And that was as far as the old little box could go. </p>
  <p>Little by little, the melody started to wind down. And, then, it’d stopped.</p>
  <p>Gently, she eased the lid shut. The latch snapped into place again. She looked up. </p>
  <p>Dmitry and Vlad were staring at her like she’d just sprouted an extra head or two. But, somehow, to her it felt like they weren’t even in the room with her anymore. It was so strange — like this was a completely different place now! Blinking, she looked around — and she noticed that the giant chandelier overhead suddenly wasn’t covered with dust and cobwebs anymore. Hanging majestically in its long, golden chain, now it was glowing with a thousand sparkling lights. All around her, the floor was so clean and spotless she could see her own reflection in it — except it wasn’t <i>herself</i> she saw! It was a pretty girl with glorious golden curls and haughty eyes — she wore a sky blue gown that looked like it may as well have descended from heaven, and a tiara rimmed with pearls. The scowl on her face meant she was clearly bored to death.</p>
  <p>And — now she could hear music. There was a piano at the back of the room, and a young servant in a red suit was playing a bouncy, cheerful piece on it — so bubbly it almost made her want to dance. Everywhere she looked, she saw men and women — couples dressed in dazzling gowns and imposing uniforms — polished boots and dainty little sandals; medals, glittering bracelets, and strings of pearls. They were twirling and waltzing in circles all around her — or some of them were just chattering quietly among themselves, lazily draped in the exquisite armchairs and sofas that had once lined the sides of this lovely little ballroom. In the air, there was the sound of laughter. Warmth — and joy — </p>
  <p>And then her eyes fell on the conmen again. </p>
  <p>Snapping out of her trance, Anya froze. </p>
  <p>It was then that she realized she’d been dancing — <i>she</i> had actually been <i>dancing — </i>all this time! Humming to herself and twirling around like an idiot in the middle of the cheese room.</p>
  <p>In the sudden silence, she could hear the faint groans and creaks of this decrepit, old palace.</p>
  <p>Her face burned like a flaming torch. </p>
  <p>Dmitry clapped his hands together, looking stupefied. “You—”</p>
  <p>“Nope!” Anya pitched the music box back at him. As he fumbled to catch it, she made a beeline for the door. </p>
  <p>“Okay, that’s it!” she said, marching out into the hallway. “I guess I failed your dumb audition thing! That’s too bad — but oh well! I guess what counts is I tried!”</p>
  <p>Funny enough, she actually meant that. </p>
  <p><i>This</i> was not the way things were supposed to go. All she’d wanted was to con these conmen, use them to get to Paris, and then ditch them once they were there! It’d been such a nice, simple plan — and getting sucked into trances and having flashbacks had <i>not</i> been part of it. </p>
  <p>What had happened just seconds ago was <i>extremely creepy</i>. And she wasn’t having any of it.</p>
  <p>Maybe she wasn’t <i>all</i> that sick of Gleb, after all.</p>
  <p>“No-no-no-no-no, wait — hold on!” Now Dmitry was striding along next to her. “<i>What do you mean</i>, you failed? You didn’t fail! That… <i>thing</i> you did just now was <i>perfect</i>!” </p>
  <p>Anya tried to walk faster and leave him behind. But even in the daylight, navigating the palace was next to impossible with all these chunks of furniture and stone and ceramic strewn all over the floor. </p>
  <p>Dmitry planted himself in front of her, blocking her path.</p>
  <p>“Get out of my way,” Anya muttered. </p>
  <p>“Yeah, not until I’ve got some answers,” he snapped back, fists on his hips. “Listen, I just want to know — where’d you learn to dance like <i>that</i>? And — where’d you learn that song? And — that music box — I could’ve <i>sworn</i> it just wouldn’t—! How—?” </p>
  <p>“One question at a time, comrade,” Vlad said from behind them. Anya turned and saw him easily making his way over to them, dodging the debris like he’d been born here. </p>
  <p>He caught up to them and moved to stand next to Dmitry… Now the two of them were standing between her and the exit. </p>
  <p>“We don’t want to overwhelm Her Imperial Majesty,” Vlad continued, giving her a sly, easy smile.</p>
  <p>Dmitry’s head whipped in his direction. He looked like he was desperately trying to figure out whether Vlad was being serious. Whether he actually believed Anya was… <i>her</i>.</p>
  <p>“I’m <i>not</i> her,” Anya said bluntly. </p>
  <p>She was hoping she could spot an opening through which she could dart past them. But each of them had his side of the hall perfectly covered. Curse these men and their dirty tricks!</p>
  <p>Dmitry was staring at her like a trillion conflicting thoughts were racing through his mind.</p>
  <p>“If you’re not <i>her</i>,” he said finally, “then — <i>why</i>?” </p>
  <p>“Why <i>what</i>?” Anya snapped.</p>
  <p>“Why <i>everything</i>?” Dmitry said. “Why — <i>Yekaterinburg</i>?” He produced the music box from his pocket and waved it at her. “Why <i>this</i>?”</p>
  <p>“And what’s more,” Vlad added calmly, “if you’re not <i>her</i>, dear girl, why do you have <i>her</i> eyes? How <i>can</i> you stand so perfectly straight — like it was drilled into you by the <i>strictest</i> of tutors ever since you were a tender little girl?”</p>
  <p>“Hey, that’s right…” Dmitry mumbled. He’d raised his knuckles to his lips, like he was thinking aloud. “She sat straight… like a queen.”</p>
  <p>“<i>And</i> — the greatest mystery of all,” Vlad went on. “If you’re not Anastasia, how can you <i>speak</i> like her? How can you be so proud and daring — just the things she was most well-known for?”</p>
  <p>“Uh…” Anya’s jaw joggled as she tried to come up with an answer to all of that.</p>
  <p>Her eyes fell on the music box. Dmitry offered to throw it back at her again, and her hand reached out of its own accord — but she caught herself and clenched her fists on her uniform’s skirt instead. She shook her head. </p>
  <p>This was a bad time for those voices to start acting up again.</p>
  <p>
    <i>‘Wherever I go, you’ll always be with me.’</i>
  </p>
  <p>‘<i>You’re my favorite! Strong. Not afraid of anything.’</i></p>
  <p>Unsettling little snatches of memory.</p>
  <p>She smiled stiffly at the older conman. “You almost sound like you actually <i>knew</i> her.”</p>
  <p>“He did,” Dmitry said.</p>
  <p>“I did!” Vlad smiled as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “I may not look the part now, darling — but back in the good old days, I hobnobbed with the royals as if I’d always been one of them! I met the Tsar’s four daughters when they were all just adorable little girls: Olga, Tatiana, Maria — and the mischievous Anastasia.” His smile turned wistful. “You see — I was <i>madly</i> in love with the Dowager Empress’s lady-in-waiting at the time — the widowed countess Lilly Malevsky-Malevitch.” Nostalgically, he chuckled. “All too often, Anastasia would <i>command</i> me to play hide-and-seek with her in the Romanovs’ gardens as I waited for a chance to spend some time alone with my sweetheart.”</p>
  <p>Anya narrowed her eyes and tilted her head skeptically. </p>
  <p>She wished she could stare through him and see if he was telling the truth <i>this</i> time. </p>
  <p>“Eh. So what,” she scoffed. “None of that actually <i>proves</i> anything.”</p>
  <p>“Argh!” Dmitry shoved the music box back into his pocket. “This princess is stubborn as a mule!” </p>
  <p>“Anastasia <i>was</i> the most headstrong out of all the sisters,” Vlad noted pensively.</p>
  <p>“<i>Oh, for the last time—!</i>” Annoyed, Anya stalked past them. Or — what was what she’d <i>meant</i> to do, but then Dmitry caught her mid-barrage; she yelped as he hoisted her up, spun her around — and then she found herself standing right where she’d been five seconds ago, feeling dazed.</p>
  <p>She swept her hair out of her eyes, trying to get back some of her dignity. </p>
  <p>“You don’t know how <i>much</i> I hate you both right now.” She beamed at them mock-sweetly. “I’m sorry that we <i>ever</i> met!” </p>
  <p>“You and me both, comrade,” Dmitry muttered, folding his arms. </p>
  <p>The time had come for drastic measures, she decided. She crouched down to pick something up from the ground — an old armrest made of scorched, blackened wood. That would do. </p>
  <p>“I won’t warn you again!” she growled, pointing her weapon at them. (Vlad’s eyes widened and he raised his hands up in surrender.) “I have a pointy chunk of furniture — and I’m going to <i>spill your guts</i> with it if you don’t get out of my way <i>right now</i>!” </p>
  <p>To her chagrin, Dmitry then picked something up himself. He grabbed a long, marble table leg and rested it casually against his shoulder. </p>
  <p>She might’ve seen that one coming. Except she hadn’t.</p>
  <p>“So — <i>that’s</i> how it’s going to be?” the conman snarled. “You come all the way to Petersburg looking for me — you do the audition — and you chicken out in the end, like a whiny little girl?”</p>
  <p>“I think I’ll take my chances getting to Paris on my own,” Anya said grimly. “You two are <i>way</i> more trouble than you’re worth!”</p>
  <p>“Ah, yes. The truth often <i>can</i> be inconvenient,” Vlad said. Eyes pinned on her armrest, his hands still up in the air, he bowed deeply. “We beg your pardon, Your Grace, for pestering you with it.” </p>
  <p>“Ironic thing for a conman to say!” Anya quipped. </p>
  <p>She’d meant to said it in the most ‘regal’, hoity-toity tone she could, just to mock them. But she did it just a little too well — or she failed it completely — and the words ended up coming out too elegantly. As if acting like a stuck-up little princess just came naturally to her. </p>
  <p>Even Dmitry looked a little bit impressed. </p>
  <p>Vlad smiled. “She said that like a Romanov.” </p>
  <p>Shutting her eyes, Anya pinched her nose. </p>
  <p>Then she realized that was a Gleb thing to do. So she ran her hand through her hair instead.</p>
  <p>She let out a low, angry grunt that carried all her frustration with the conmen and with herself — and with the ridiculously bad hand fate had dealt her in general. </p>
  <p>And, in the darkness behind her eyelids, she kept seeing… <i>herself</i>. She saw the <i>other</i> Anya from some other world. The one with the perfectly coifed, glossy gold hair and that divine blue dress and her proud, bored, sulky eyes.</p>
  <p>“Stop planting these <i>ideas</i> in my head,” she mumbled. She opened her eyes to glower at them. “I don’t want to <i>be</i> Anastasia!”</p>
  <p>“Why not?” Dmitry asked, idly thumping the table leg against his shoulder. “Every other girl in Petersburg would <i>kill</i> to be her.”</p>
  <p>“To be <i>royalty</i>!” Vlad breathed.</p>
  <p>“To have massive sums of money waiting for you in Paris,” Dmitry clarified.</p>
  <p>“None of that matters to me!” Anya snapped, waving her armrest at them in frustration. “If I’m <i>her</i>, then that means I’ll <i>never</i> find my way home — because there <i>is</i> no home to go back to! The Bolsheviks already blew it all up — and everyone I’ve ever cared about is already <i>dead</i>!”</p>
  <p>Her voice bounced harshly across the open hallway as she got more and more anxious with each word. Still, the conmen just stared at her nonchalantly.</p>
  <p>“Well, that’s not <i>exactly</i> true,” Vlad replied. “Would you kindly put your weapon down, darling?”</p>
  <p>“I mean, you’re not wrong,” Dmitry said. “But, uh — that’s the whole point of all this! You’ve still got your dear ol’ imperial babushka waiting for you in Europe!” </p>
  <p>His makeshift marble club dropped to the floor with a booming echo as he took a step forward. “I can just <i>see</i> her right now, Anya!” he said, his hand arching up theatrically in the air. “She’s all alone, staring off into the horizon, thinking of you! And fanning herself with a huge wad of cash—” </p>
  <p>“<i>More to the point</i>,” Vlad cut in, shooting Dmitry an acidic look, “if you truly <i>are</i> who you seem to be, Anya — then <i>all of us</i> could have our respective happy endings. <i>You</i> find your grandmother, Dmitry gets his money, and I…” He smiled with some honest warmth. “Well, I’ll just hope my Lilly will be happy to see me.” </p>
  <p>“And, <i>all of that</i>…” Dmitry had scuttled over to her with one quick, sneaky stride — now he was pinning her to his side in a one-armed hug. “<i>All of that</i>, comrade, is waiting for us in <i>Paris</i>!”</p>
  <p>“Paris,” Anya whispered.</p>
  <p>Could it be?</p>
  <p>She shrugged free of Dmitry’s grasp. Letting go of her armrest, she ambled over to the banister overlooking the palace’s vast and empty entrance hall. She laid her hands on the dusty polished stone, imagining — or… remembering? — what this place had looked like once upon a time. </p>
  <p>She saw golden chandeliers encrusted with diamonds. Frazzled servant girls running around. A string quartet playing in that corner over there. And, in the middle of it all, the nobles: a crowd of amiable, chatty, overly polite people — the men with their ruby-studded swords at their hips and epaulettes on their shoulders — and the women, wearing a rainbow of dresses, draped in furs and silk and lace, and gems, and pearls. The lively chatter from the hall would waft all the way up here in the warm, perfumed air, inviting you to go downstairs and mingle and catch up with everybody. <i>But</i> if you went, you’d always have to have a sister by your side! So you could rescue each other if you ended up getting stuck with some boring prince or countess who wouldn’t shut up. </p>
  <p>Anya sighed. The lonely gust of her breath echoed in the scorched, silent room. </p>
  <p>She couldn’t be Anastasia. She just couldn’t. It was just so unlikely. </p>
  <p>But, then, why did it feel like the truth she’d been looking for all these years had been here all along? Waiting for her in this sad, old, half-demolished, burnt-down palace.</p>
  <p>She let her head drop and buried her face in her hands.</p>
  <p>“I think she’s finally accepting it,” Dmitry whispered behind her. </p>
  <p>“At most I’d say she’s halfway there,” Vlad whispered back. </p>
  <p>She turned to them. Suddenly, she felt tired. Like she’d run all the way to the Cheka’s HQ and back here again.</p>
  <p>She smirked as a thought came to her. </p>
  <p>“You two should bow down to me,” she said.</p>
  <p>Dmitry put a hand on his hip. “Sorry, come again?” </p>
  <p>Anya turned her chin up. “You heard me! Her Imperial Majesty, the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova, demands it.” She snapped her fingers, pointed down at the ground. “So <i>— down</i>! On your knees, right now.”</p>
  <p>Dmitry gave her the most venomous stare she’d received in her whole life — not that she cared much. She smiled in Gleb’s calm, condescending style, and she waited. </p>
  <p>Vlad kicked him in the back of his knees and shoved him to the ground. Then he himself gleefully knelt down with a flamboyant flourish.</p>
  <p>“Your wish is our command, my Princess!” he chirped. “We pledge our love and our undying loyalty to you!”</p>
  <p>“Wait — <i>what</i>?!” Dmitry bounced back up to his feet. “Speak for yourself, old man!” </p>
  <p>“Uh…” Anya wrung her hands — and hissed at the pain — shifting uncomfortably. “Okay. Thanks, Vlad. You can get up now.”</p>
  <p>And she hurried to help him as he struggled to get to his feet again. </p>
  <p>Meanwhile, in the back of her head, she questioned how she knew Anastasia’s actual, full name, complete with her titles and all. </p>
  <p>Maybe she should stop questioning the avalanche of random little bits of knowledge and memory at this point.</p>
  <p>And she shouldn’t wonder what Gleb would do if he ever found out that all this craziness had just happened.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. May 16th</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, comrades! </p><p>I offer you my sincerest apology for my outrageous delay in posting this one. It's mostly been a pretty bad case of work overload. Yeh, not awesome, but what can one do, right?</p><p>Anyways! At this point, we must briefly swerve away from our normal, linear narrative. Now, we travel back in time to revisit the dark past that haunts Gleb's and Anya's present. :) Fun times ahead. </p><p>All right, me tired, off to bed now. XD I hope you enjoy the thingy -- and stay safe, friends.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="chapter-wrapper"><hr/><p>1918: May 16th.</p><p>
    The House of Special Purpose was an iconic sight to behold. The two-story
    mansion, also known as the Ipatiev House, had been built by a wealthy
    merchant and then requisitioned by the Ural Regional Soviet for a cause far
    nobler than anything its former owner could have dreamed of. Now, as Gleb
    laid eyes on the old, sprawling house for the first time — or, what little
    of it he could glimpse above the palisade — he could not help but
    experience a surge of pride and revulsion at the same time. The former, as
    he dared to imagine that the Red Army might truly be on the brink of
    transforming the world forever. The latter, as he thought of their enemy:
    the old Russia. The old ways. The Tsar and his supporters: fat, squealing
    pigs fit solely to be slaughtered — so that the hungry people of Russia
    could feast on their entrails.
  </p><p>It would not be long now. Soon.</p><p>
    The Jeep lurched and tumbled along Voznesensky Lane, battling its way
    forward through the mud until it finally came to a stop in front of the
    palisade. Gleb’s personal guard descended from the vehicle first. As they
    spread out around it, he himself stepped out and fought back the
    unseemly temptation to stretch.
  </p><p>
    A stout, young corporal was already waiting at the door. His hand sliced
    through the air in a perfect salute as Gleb approached him. “Sergeant
    Vaganov! Sir!”
  </p><p>Gleb smiled thinly. “Good morning, comrade.”</p><p>
    “Moscow sent word you were coming,” the boy said. “Welcome to Yekaterinburg,
    Sir! Commander Yurovsky is waiting for you in his office.”
  </p><p>
    Absently, Gleb nodded. The young man led him inside the house. Meanwhile,
    his men would transport his luggage to the soldiers’ bedrooms. Notably, the
    hallways here seemed to be draped in a strange sort of gloom, despite the
    fact that it was almost midday. As he and his guide made their way toward
    Commander Yurovsky’s personal quarters, the pervasive smell of mold and dust
    assaulted Gleb’s nostrils. Indeed, there was a thick layer of dust
    everywhere — on the floor and on the lavishly framed paintings that lined
    the walls; on the tables in the hallway and on the myriad china trinkets
    that had sat on them, untouched, ever since they'd been abandoned there.
  </p><p>
    He dismissed the corporal at Yurovsky’s aged, oaken door. And then, finally,
    Gleb found himself in the Commander’s study.
  </p><p>
    It was a sparsely yet opulently furnished room — as, indeed, it should be,
    considering its occupant’s dignity and rank. On the far corner, to the
    right, there was the bed — a veritable behemoth made of carved solid oak.
    (It must have been quite the challenge to haul it in.) Next to it, the
    antique mahogany dresser — almost as imposing and meticulously polished.
    Then there was the most ornately carved desk he had seen in his life,
    centered neatly on the carpet; and, sitting at the desk, poring over his
    documents, was the Commander himself.
  </p><p>
    Yakov Mikhailovich Yurovsky. A large, burly man, dark-haired and fully
    bearded, about forty years of age. A committed Bolshevik and Chekist. Sharp
    and merciless as the blade of a bayonet.
  </p><p>
    The Commander took a few more moments to study his papers. Gleb folded his
    hands behind his back and respectfully waited.
  </p><p>He had to admit to himself he was only slightly nervous.</p><p>
    Never before had he been asked to take part in a mission this important. It
    was absolutely vital that he perform well.
  </p><p>
    The Revolution itself... and, beyond it, his own career as a Bolshevik...
    depended on it.
  </p><p>
    At long last, Yurovsky put his binder away. Still seated in his armchair,
    twining his fingers together, he coolly raised his eyes to meet Gleb’s. Then
    his lips curled in a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
  </p><p>
    “Sergeant Gleb Stefanovich Vaganov,” the man said in a slow, quiet drawl. “A
    pleasure to meet you.”
  </p><p>“Likewise, Sir,” Gleb replied, with an emphatic nod. “It’s an honor.”</p><p>
    “I believe you were promoted quite recently,” Yurovsky said. “According to
    my records, you volunteered to join our ranks only sixteen short months ago.
    Is this information accurate?”
  </p><p>“Yes, Sir. That is correct.”</p><p>
    Yurovsky nodded. He let the silence stretch for a long moment. His eyes
    narrowed subtly as he assessed Gleb — in much the way a seasoned falconer
    might assess his new game hawk.
  </p><p>
    “Well,” the man said finally, “congratulations, Sergeant Vaganov.” (His
    smile grew almost imperceptibly wider.) “I’ll be frank with you: you are the
    youngest junior officer I have ever laid eyes on. I’m impressed. If your
    accomplishments to date are anything to go by, then I must say you are destined for greatness. The noble communist cause is proud to call
    you Her own.”
  </p><p>“Thank you, Sir.”</p><p>
    “Now, then,” Yurovsky continued. “That is precisely why I summoned you here,
    Comrade Sergeant.”
  </p><p>
    Calmly, he stood up. He sauntered around his desk and over to Gleb as he
    spoke.
  </p><p>
    “As you know,” the Commander said, “the work we are doing here is of utmost
    importance to the Revolution. I need to surround myself with committed
    Bolsheviks like yourself: <i>fierce</i>, <i>zealous</i> young men — men
    who’ll do <i>whatever is asked of them</i>… Men who would put a
    bullet in the Tsar’s skull at my command, if necessary.”
  </p><p>
    Despite his eerily serene demeanor, the man’s determination to win this war
    at all costs was audible in his monotone now. It was there, discreet but
    ruthless, like a sword in its scabbard.
  </p><p>
    Finally, he came to a stop in front of Gleb. Gleb stood tall. Tilting his
    chin up — rising to the occasion.
  </p><p>
    “Comrade Vaganov,” Yurovsky drawled gravely. “I am
    giving you the chance to decline this mission now and get back to your post
    in Moscow, if you earnestly doubt you are qualified for this. <i>Do</i> you,
    then, have what it takes to serve as my subordinate?”
  </p><p>Gleb saluted as fervently as he was able. “Sir! Yes, Sir!”</p><p>
    “So I expected to hear,” Yurovsky replied. “At ease,
    comrade.”
  </p><p>He then retrieved another binder from his desk; he passed it to Gleb.</p><p>
    “You are now one of my personal aides,” the man continued. “In particular,
    you are to serve as commandant of the interior guard. You will have complete
    authority over the men within your jurisdiction, and you will have access to
    all areas of the house at all times.”
  </p><p>
    As his superior briefed him, Gleb opened the binder and quickly scanned its
    contents. It contained the mission objectives, summarized profiles of every
    man under his command, and in-depth blueprints for the entire house. Then
    there were schedules detailing the guards’ routines and patrol routes — and,
    lastly, the prisoners’ profiles.
  </p><p>
    His eyes landed on a black-and-white photograph of the prisoners as a group
    — the deposed imperial family and a few misguided servants who had followed
    them into exile. They all stood in a row in front of the palisade — the
    former Tsar, Nicholas Romanov, his wife, his son, and his four daughters.
    And, next to them: the physician, the chambermaid, the valet, and the cook.
  </p><p>
    “Your duty,” Yurovsky was saying, “will be to ensure that our prisoners
    spend every hour of the day under strict surveillance. They will not so much
    as use the lavatory without your permission. Most essentially, you will ensure they will not exchange clandestine communications with their
    supporters by any means. Do you understand your orders, Sergeant?”
  </p><p>“Yes, Sir.”</p><p>
    “You will find all the information you’ll need in that dossier,” Yurovsky
    continued, gesturing to the binder with a tilt of his chin. “Still, I
    suggest you supplement your briefing by speaking to Corporal Gorev. He
    supervises the guards on the ground floor; you’ll likely find him in the
    courtyard.”
  </p><p>
    “Corporal Gorev?” Gleb’s brows twitched upward at the
    surname. “Dominik Petrovich?”
  </p><p>
    “Yes, him.” Yurovsky ambled back to his armchair and sat down again. “A good
    soldier. Not as promising as you. I believe you two have served together on
    a few occasions?”
  </p><p>Gleb resisted the urge to smile. “Yes, Sir, we have.”</p><p>
    The man nodded absently. He slid open his drawer and began to sift through a
    stack of crinkled manila envelopes. “Well — good, good. It’ll save you the
    trouble of building rapport with his men. Tell him to fill you in on
    everything he knows. Go. You are dismissed.”
  </p><p>Gleb saluted and turned to leave.</p><p>
    He was about to turn the doorknob when the Commander spoke again: “And —
    Comrade Vaganov?”
  </p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>
    From across the room, Yurovsky smiled — a somewhat tauter smile than before.
  </p><p>
    “I hardly need to remind you that this is no ordinary mission,” he drawled.
    “If you succeed in guarding the Romanovs until they’ve been…
    <i>dealt with</i>, I predict that your meteoric rise to the top will only
    accelerate. Tell me, Sergeant — can you see yourself becoming a general in a
    few years’ time?”
  </p><p>
    Admittedly, a thrill of anticipation stirred in Gleb’s belly at the thought.
  </p><p>
    “My life for the Revolution, Sir,” he said. (Trying to sound quite
    neutral.) “I will serve in whatever capacity I can be useful.”
  </p><p>
    Yurovsky nodded approvingly. “A wise answer. Opportunities like this only
    happen once in a lifetime, comrade. If we are victorious, then you and I
    will be heralded for generations to come as national heroes. If we fail…
    well, needless to say, we’ll both be shot. I trust you’ll give me ample
    reason to recommend you to my superiors when all this is over,
    Sergeant Vaganov. Welcome to Yekaterinburg.”
  </p>
<hr/><p>
    The soldiers’ bedrooms were located near the dining hall, on the ground
    floor. Gleb confirmed that his luggage had been brought in; then he
    thoroughly studied the Commander’s dossier, and finally set out to find
    Dominik.
  </p><p>
    He found him exactly where the Commander had suggested. From afar, he
    glimpsed Dominik’s unmistakably short, lean frame leaning against the wall
    next to the doorway that led to the garden. The blue-eyed, hyperactive
    almost-albino had a host of soldiers gathered around him, as usual. Gleb
    caught a snatch of their spirited conversation as he approached them.
  </p><p>
    “And <i>then</i>,” Dominik was saying (while the others listened with rapt
    attention), “she looked me in the eye, and she smiled, and she said
    something to me all mock-sweetly-like! In French. It was—”
  </p><p>“But — wait — so what was she saying?” someone in his audience asked.</p><p>
    “Man, I don’t know!” Dominik laughed. “I just <i>told you</i> she was
    talkin’ to me in <i>French</i>! Do I know French? Do I look like a freakin’
    <i>froufrou</i>-lovin’, ass-kissin’ blueblood to ya?”
  </p><p>“He can’t even speak proper Russian!” someone else quipped.</p><p>“Aw — you shut up—”</p><p>Gleb decided the time for gossip was over an hour ago.</p><p>
    Grinning to himself in anticipation, he halted a few meters from the group.
    He stood in the most solemn and authoritative stance he could think of.
  </p><p>“Comrade Gorev!” he barked. “At attention!”</p><p>
    Dominik and his peers froze at once. Their heads whipped around in his
    direction, their backs straight as a ruler and their eyes wide with
    near-panic.
  </p><p>At this — he couldn’t help it — Gleb had to chuckle.</p><p>
    Dominik recognized him at once — and grinned wide enough to bite his ears.
    “Gleb!”
  </p><p>
    He dismissed his men immediately; he rushed over to pull Gleb into a
    rib-crushing hug. “Man, how <i>are</i> you? It’s been frickin’
    <i>forever</i>! Where the hell have you <i>been</i>?”
  </p><p>
    Gleb smiled at this not-entirely-unexpected excess of comraderie. “Hello,
    Dominik.”
  </p><p>
    “I mean, seriously!” The blond was pensively staring at the cobwebs overhead
    now. “It’s been… what? Six months? I mean, I haven’t seen <i>you</i> since—”
  </p><p>“Petersburg,” Gleb mused.</p><p>
    Dominik slapped the back of his neck. “It’s <i>Leningrad</i> now! What —
    have you been living under a rock?”
  </p><p>
    “Ah — that’s right!” Gleb breathed, tentatively rubbing at his sore skin. (A
    sense of awe at the city’s glorious new name overcame him and he forgot to
    get back at the idiot for the smack.) “<i>Leningrad!</i>”
  </p><p>
    “Yeah,” Dominik said. Taking a step back, he examined Gleb’s new uniform and
    insignia with raised, white eyebrows. “And look at <i>you</i>! So you’re
    <i>Sergeant</i> Vaganov now! I mean — holy moly, you sure move fast.”
  </p><p>
    “So do you,” Gleb replied, with a nod of recognition. “Congratulations,
    Comrade Corporal.”
  </p><p>
    “Heh. Still feels good when people call me that,” Dominik snickered. “I’m
    really rockin’ the uniform, too. I mean, look at <i>me</i>!” He vainly swept
    his hand through his whitish-blond hair. “Yup. <i>This</i> bad boy is a
    ladykiller!”
  </p><p>Gleb smiled indulgently and shook his head.</p><p>
    “Commander Yurovsky asked me to speak to you, though I can’t imagine why,”
    he said, folding his arms. “Do you know anything at all that I should know
    about, Dominik?”
  </p><p>
    His friend registered the trail of implications behind the question with a
    mild frown of recognition. “Riiiiight! Right. So — <i>you’re</i> gonna be
    our new boss! You’re the new commandant.”
  </p><p>“That is correct.”</p><p>
    “Huh. I mean, I can’t really say that’s a huge shocker, so...” Dominik
    bit his lip one moment, thinking. “Right. So here’s what we’ll do:
    I’ll show you around the place and tell you everything I know. C’mon — let’s
    go.”
  </p><p>
    With that, he set out down the hallway with his characteristic short, quick
    strides. Gleb followed.
  </p><p>
    “And after this,” Dominik went on, “you wanna go meet up with your dad. Ol’
    Stefan Vaganov is here, too! Did you know that?”
  </p><p>
    “Is he, now?” Gleb grinned. “I didn’t see his name in the roster! He must be
    with the outer guard.”
  </p><p>
    “Yeah — he and the boys outside have to patrol the streets around the house
    like twice every hour,” Dominik informed him. “All day, all night. I’m
    guessing you already got some docs on this, but we’ve got machine guns
    deployed all over the place. There’s one in the basement, aiming at the
    street; then there’s one in the attic, one in the balcony… Ah, we also got
    one in the cathedral — you know, up in the spire, aiming at the house.”
  </p><p>
    Gleb nodded. Indeed, he had read all of this in the mission documentation.
  </p><p>
    As Dominik showed him around the house, an idle question occurred to him.
  </p><p>
    “The woman you were talking about,” he said, “a while ago, with the guards…
    Who was she?”
  </p><p>
    Dominik stared at him blankly. Then, after a moment, his memory stirred.
  </p><p>
    “Ah — <i>her</i>!” he said. “Yeah. <i>Her</i>.” He snickered to himself,
    savoring the mystery. “Oh, you’ll get to meet <i>her</i>!”
  </p><p>
    “Yes, <i>her</i>,” Gleb said, annoyed. “Who <i>is</i> she, then? Because —
    to be frank with you, comrade, I certainly wonder <i>why</i> you’d be
    fraternizing with some worthless Francophile to begin with—”
  </p><p>
    “Hey! Don’t look at me!” Dominik raised his hands defensively. “I didn’t do
    anything! I was just trying to do my job and <i>she</i> just went all-out
    froufrou on me all of a sudden — just because she can!”
  </p><p>“She.”</p><p>
    “I honestly don’t have a clue what she was saying,” Dominik muttered
    bitterly. “I think she was
    <i>sweetly</i> throwing some <i>nasty</i> insults at me. You can hear it in
    the way she <i>laughs</i>! Dumb girl. She has <i>no idea</i> what’s going on
    here. I mean — not that <i>I</i> know a whole lot, either — but—”
  </p><p>“Do you intend on <i>ever</i> telling me who she is?” Gleb snapped.</p><p>Suddenly, Domink stopped walking.</p><p>Perplexed, Gleb stopped as well. “What?”</p><p>
    They were now in the upper floor’s dust-laden main hallway. This place
    seemed even colder and drearier — more poorly lit — than the rest of the
    house, for some reason. The smell of dust and mold here was almost
    offensive.
  </p><p>
    They had halted in front of an old, wooden doorsill. The room beyond it was
    draped in semi-darkness. There was a peculiar black splotch on the peeling
    wallpaper next to the doorway.
  </p><p>
    Dominik nodded toward the room with a wry smirk. “This is where we keep her
    practically always. Solitary confinement, see. She slammed the door on
    someone’s face the other day — literally broke his nose, poor bastard. So
    now there’s no door anymore.”
  </p><p>
    Gleb’s eyebrows twitched upwards. He glanced again at the stain on the wall
    — and this time recognized it as dry blood. (Copious amounts of it.)
  </p><p>
    Now he was immensely curious. A <i>woman</i> had done this to one of their
    men? A mild-mannered, meek little royal — really?
  </p><p>Leaning forward ever so slightly, he peeked inside the room.</p><p>
    And <i>then</i>, he saw her. She was seated in one of those engraved
    mahogany armchairs, her back turned to them. She was so short that her head
    did not protrude above the chair’s ornate, broad back — that was why he had
    failed to notice her before. Now, in response to Dominik’s chatter, she had
    twisted around in her seat to look at them.
  </p><p>
    Gleb caught a glimpse of wavy gold hair spilling over the armrest, catching
    what little light there was in the room. Then he saw a pale and rather thin
    face — of course, the face of a woman who could no longer feast at the
    expense of the poor. He seemed to be the focus of her gaze at the moment.
    Her mouth contorted into a disdainful scowl as she examined him, as if he
    were little more than a stain in the carpet.
  </p><p>
    This was the deposed Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova. He
    recognized her immediately — he had seen that petty little pout of hers just
    moments before, in the mission dossier.
  </p><p>
    Dominik blew a kiss at her; she narrowed her eyes at him — a glare of
    pure, contemptuous, glacial ire. Then she sharply turned away from them and
    the backrest hid her from view once more.
  </p><p>Gleb turned and resumed their walk along the hallway.</p><p>“Why would you do that?” he reproved his comrade.</p><p>
    “Because she hates me,” Dominik said blithely, striding along. “So I always
    go outta my way to let her know I hate her too. That’s what you gotta do,
    man! Can’t just leave a lady hangin’.”
  </p><p>Gleb drew in a weary breath. Refrained from sighing.</p><p>
    “And you said she spends most of her time in solitary confinement?” he
    asked.
  </p><p>
    “Yeah. Yurovsky’s sick and tired of her by this point,” Dominik groaned. “No
    matter how long we put her there each time, she just keeps landing herself
    in that room. First time, it was ’cause she kept sneaking out into the
    garden. We told her not to. Doesn’t care. Second time, she opened a window
    and tried to look outside — somebody in the outer guard had to fire a shot
    at her to get her to stop. Third time, she broke the curfew for a stupid
    reason. So—” He shrugged. “I mean, we can keep playin’ this game as long as
    she likes. At some point, she’s gotta wake up and realize <i>we’re</i> the
    masters now. I mean — <i>the people</i> are the masters!” he quickly
    corrected himself. “So I’m hoping — eventually she’s gonna learn to behave
    and keep her head down like the others. We’re all just kinda waiting for
    it.”
  </p><p>Gleb frowned and nodded.</p><p>
    He wasn’t sure exactly why he found Anastasia’s situation slightly
    disquieting.
  </p><p>
    Perhaps it was the fact that he had never heard of someone being put in
    solitary confinement for gazing out a window before.
  </p><p>
    But — of course — these were no ordinary circumstances. This woman, he
    reminded himself, was guilty for the suffering of millions of poor,
    hard-working Russians. Every death by starvation — every orphan, every
    destitute drunk stumbling in the streets… <i>She</i> bore the blame for
    <i>all of it</i>.
  </p><p>
    She and her sisters. She and her brother. Her parents. The whole lot of them
    — they were <i>all</i> criminals.
  </p><p>
    Now it was <i>their</i> turn to suffer as they watched their world burn.
  </p>
<hr/><p>
    As the whims of fate would have it, Gleb found himself climbing up the
    staircase to Anastasia’s makeshift cell for a second time that evening.
  </p><p>
    This time, he was alone. While strolling in circles around the suffocating
    enclosure of the garden, he had been trying to think of ways to keep her
    from testing Commander Yurovsky’s patience yet again in the near future.
    But, really, how <i>could</i> he put a stop to her antics once and for all,
    if repeated bouts of solitary confinement were not enough to break the
    girl’s spirit?
  </p><p>
    Now, as his footsteps quietly echoed along the hallway, he finally settled
    on a preliminary course of action.
  </p><p>
    The secret to winning any battle would be to know one’s enemy. Thus — though
    he was extremely reluctant to do so — Gleb would have to observe the girl
    very closely over the next couple of weeks. Starting now, he would spend a daily average of two hours supervising her directly — learning her tactics,
    habits, motives, and so on. Hopefully, in twenty days’ time or so, this
    exercise would yield some insights he could use to manage her effectively in
    the future.
  </p><p>
    He stopped at the doorsill and peered inside the room. Anastasia was
    standing by the window in the semi-darkness. She wore a plain white dress
    with a blue sash at the waist. Her wavy, blond hair hung like a cape about
    her hips. The window’s opaque glass panes had been covered over with
    newspaper and then sealed with whitewash, but she seemed to be staring
    listlessly past them anyhow, as if she were absorbed in memories.
  </p><p>
    Just then, Gleb understood just why this house seemed so peculiarly eerie.
    The windows were all sealed in this exact same way. Of course. He might’ve
    paid attention to that detail before.
  </p><p>
    He surprised himself by rapping his knuckles on the doorsill. Announcing his
    presence, as though she were his guest and not his prisoner.
  </p><p>
    Anastasia gave a start and spun around to face him. Her eyes quickly scanned
    him up and down, lingering for a second on his insignia.
  </p><p>Then she smiled.</p><p>
    “Ah, mais qui est là?” she said, in an incomprehensible string of French.
    “Nul autre que le nouveau roi de cons! Ai-je raison?”
  </p><p>
    Gleb chose not to bother with an answer. He sauntered over to the corner at
    the back of the room. (This, again, surprised her, and she flinched —
    though, to her credit, she did so almost imperceptibly.) There, he stood at
    attention, his eyes fixed on the vomit-green wallpaper outside.
  </p><p>Now, here he must stand guard until he was very nearly bored to tears.</p><p>
    Fleetingly, he hoped someone would come along soon and rescue him from this
    asinine idea he’d managed to come up with.
  </p><p>
    A quaint look of puzzlement came over Anastasia’s expression. Then, as she
    realized he was not going anywhere anytime soon, her stare grew a few
    degrees frostier.
  </p><p>
    “Quoi?” she muttered, with a savage edge to her smile. “Que fais-tu ici? Tu
    ne parles pas? Es-tu stupide, camarade?”
  </p><p>Gleb very quickly understood why Dominik hated her.</p><p>
    Still, the thing to do at times like this was simply to maintain discipline.
  </p><p>So there he stood in silence. Waiting.</p><p>Annoyed at his unresponsiveness, she crossed her arms.</p><p>
    “Mais oui,” she said, “je vois, je vois! Bien sûr, J’aurais dû m’y attendre
    — vous êtes tous les mêmes! Con comme une valise sans poignée. Et bien.”
  </p><p>
    At long last, she ambled back to her chair, picked up a shapeless lump of
    fabric from the armrest, and sat down. A pair of long, thin needles glinted
    faintly in the whitish, faded light.
  </p><p>
    And, so — there it was! <i>Now</i> he knew the secret to her uncanny
    endurance. Apparently, at some point — in between one bout of confinement
    and the next — she had smuggled her little sewing project into the room.
    Now, during her long hours alone, she could knit to entertain herself —
    safely hidden from view in that conveniently bulky chair of hers.
  </p><p>Clever girl.</p><p>Insolent, underhanded girl.</p><p>
    And yet, to his surprise, here she was now. Shamelessly knitting right in
    front of his nose.
  </p><p>
    He idly considered confiscating everything — the wine-colored, half-sewn
    fabric, the yarn, the needles — right then and there. Perhaps that would
    teach her a little respect.
  </p><p>As if she could read his mind, her eyes darted up to meet his.</p><p>
    “What?” she demanded. (Reassuring him that she did, in fact, speak Russian.)
    “You’re not happy just standing there like a creepy painting on the wall?
    You’re going to take my things away now?”
  </p><p>She folded her hands over her work, shielding it from him.</p><p>
    The sight of her slight, thin frame — hunched so protectively over a piece
    of cloth — sparked in him a strange, fleeting sense of pity.
  </p><p>
    He inhaled deeply. Resigned himself to the fact that his mind was made up
    for now.
  </p><p>
    “You can keep those,” he said, “if that’ll get you to stop talking to me.”
  </p><p>
    This answer surprised her. Her tense shoulders went slack. Her thin, blond
    eyebrows eased into an openly baffled expression.
  </p><p>She was quiet a moment.</p><p>A very short moment.</p><p>Then she leaned back in her seat. “So what’s your name, soldier?”</p><p>
    “That’s none of your business,” Gleb snapped. “I’m here to guard you, woman,
    not entertain you. While you are in my presence, you will speak solely when
    spoken to.”
  </p><p>Unfortunately, this seemed to annoy rather than intimidate her.</p><p>
    “Wow. Crass,” she muttered. “I was just asking because you already know
    <i>my</i> name. That’s unfair. I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know
    anything about <i>anyone</i> here—” A stray thought — her eyes widened.
    “Wait. You <i>do</i> know what my name is, don’t you?” In a burst of
    indignation, she leapt to her feet. “You <i>better</i>! So, there’s four of
    us grand duchesses, and each of us — <i>surprise, surprise!</i> — actually
    has <i>a name of her own</i>! Do you even <i>know</i> which of them I am?
    <i>Comrade</i> Bolshevik?”
  </p><p>
    At this point, Gleb realized that to begin exchanging words with her had
    been a terrible mistake. He cast an uneasy glance toward the doorway. But,
    of course, there would be no sound of footsteps echoing in their direction
    for another hour. He was, thankfully, quite alone to wriggle his way out of
    this predicament he’d gotten himself into.
  </p><p>Anastasia folded her arms in expectant silence.</p><p>
    And he must not respond. That was all he had to do: Very simply, to
    disengage now and keep his mouth shut henceforth.
  </p><p>Still, her irate, burning eyes demanded an answer.</p><p>He could not tell what it was about them that drew him in.</p><p>“You are Anastasia,” he conceded.</p><p>As suddenly as it’d sparked to life, her anger abated.</p><p>“Well, good,” she said. “At least you know who you’re speaking to.”</p><p>
    Sitting down once more with almost superhuman grace, she took up her needles
    and resumed her knitting.
  </p><p>
    “Until I have a proper name to address <i>you</i> by,” she added, “I’m just
    going to call you Sweetcheeks.”
  </p><p>Gleb’s lips pursed together; his fingertips twitched.</p><p>
    <i>‘Don’t let her provoke you,’</i> he berated himself.
    <i>‘Disengage now. Don’t respond to her. Stop talking!’</i>
  </p><p>Anastasia gave him an insufferable little smirk.</p><p>Then her eyes wandered away — toward the sealed window. Her smile fell.</p><p>
    “It’s so dark outside,” she mumbled sourly, her needles quietly clicking.
    “Well — I mean, I think it <i>looks</i> dark. I really wouldn’t know, since
    you and your buddies painted over the windows. Thanks a lot for that! Now I
    can’t even <i>see</i> what I’m doing.”
  </p><p>She paused, glanced at him. Waited vainly for him to answer.</p><p>
    “I really hate it here,” she prattled on. “Don’t think I’d spend the time of
    day with you if I had <i>any</i> other choice, okay? There’s just nothing to
    do here, other than talking to the likes of you. Not that <i>you’re</i> a
    lot of fun to talk to, either. You’re not that good at chitchat, are you?
    All you know how to do is fire a gun, I presume. And set things on fire,
    take people hostage — nasty, brutish monkey business like that. I suppose I
    shouldn’t expect you to be that interesting, then.”
  </p><p>He breathed in a lungful of stagnant, moldy air. Held it in. Exhaled.</p><p>
    “I’m so <i>bored</i>,” Anastasia groaned miserably, knitting. “I can’t wait
    until they figure out what they’re going to do with us. They’re going to
    send us away somewhere, aren’t they? That’s what Mama says. If I get to pick
    where <i>I’m</i> going, then I want Paris. There’s someone important waiting
    for me there, you know? I’m sewing something for her right now. I’ll give it
    to her when this is all over. <i>Look.</i> What do you think?”
  </p><p>
    She held out the rather poorly knit fabric for him to see. Despite himself,
    Gleb found himself looking away from the doorway to glance at it.
  </p><p>He succumbed to the temptation to avenge his pride.</p><p>
    “I can’t tell what it is, exactly,” he said. “I would say you’re quite inept
    at knitting.”
  </p><p>She sucked in a gasp of indignation.</p><p>
    “How <i>dare</i> you?!” she growled. “It’s a <i>scarf</i>, obviously — it’s
    a work in progress — but what do <i>you</i> know! You couldn’t tell a
    kerchief from a necktie if it came to it — <i>ouch</i>!”
  </p><p>
    Abruptly, her unfinished work dropped to the floor. Her shoulders hunched
    convulsively and she drew her hand to her chest.
  </p><p>“What is it?” Gleb asked.</p><p>“Oh, shoot,” she was hissing. “Shoot, shoot, shoot. <i>Darn it!</i>”</p><p>
    Jumping up to her feet, she rushed over to him. She’d managed to stab
    herself with a needle — it had sliced open an insignificant little cut
    through her skin. Droplets of crimson blood had begun to seep through.
  </p><p>
    Anxious now, she licked her lips. “Hey — do you have a bandage? Or something
    I can use as a bandage? I searched the room when they put me in here, and
    there’s literally <i>nothing</i> — and I can’t get blood on Nana’s gift! If
    I do, then I shall have to start over — and — <i>well</i>? Do you?”
  </p><p>
    So that was what this crisis was about. Gleb rolled his eyes. Mutely, he
    produced a napkin from his pocket and held it out to her.
  </p><p>
    “<i>Ew!</i>” she yelped, grimacing. “Gross! Not <i>that</i>! I need
    something else. Something that — you know — doesn’t have your face smeared
    all over it?”
  </p><p>
    Quite annoyed, he was about to shove the thing back in his pocket — and
    withdraw his offer of help altogether. But she snatched the napkin from his
    hand.
  </p><p>
    “All right, <i>fine,</i>” she muttered. “I suppose this’ll have to do.
    Great, now there’s dried-up Bolshevik drool on my fingers. Oh, God!
    <i>Disgusting!</i> But what else can I do?”
  </p><p>
    With that, she shuffled back to her chair and plopped down on her seat. It’d
    appear she’d forgotten entirely about him — at long last. Now she kept
    pressing the napkin gingerly to her finger, quite unable to think of
    anything else.
  </p><p>She went quiet for a long time.</p><p>
    Too long. As he gazed forward, he expected to see her pick up her little pet
    project again at any moment — but her needles did not resume their clicking.
    He snuck a furtive glance at her — she was preoccupied and surly as she
    continued to dab ineptly at her cut.
  </p><p>“It would heal faster if you stopped dabbing,” he heard himself say.</p><p>She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Huh?”</p><p>Gleb sighed.</p><p>
    “You won’t achieve anything if you keep stroking at it,” he informed her.
    “You need pressure to make the bleeding stop. Grasp your cut between your
    thumb and forefinger, and lift up your hand to reduce the flow of blood from
    your heart. Don’t let go until at least three minutes have passed.”
  </p><p>
    Anastasia stared at him in utter incomprehension. Then, in a sudden burst of
    energy, she dashed to him again and held out her finger and the napkin.
  </p><p>“Here,” she said. “<i>You</i> do it.”</p><p>Gleb blinked. “You must be out of your mind.”</p><p>
    “Well — you clearly know how it’s supposed to be done and I don’t,” she said
    rapid-fire, “so I figured — why don’t we put those big, huge hands of yours
    to good use?” She drew herself up to her full height. “I, Anastasia
    Nikolaevna, command you to take care of this wound on my flesh! Since it’s
    your fault it’s there in the first place.”
  </p><p>
    Gleb had to pause a minute — trying to discern whether she was seriously
    proposing this.
  </p><p>
    Her surprisingly fierce, blue eyes drilled into his. Clearly willing him to
    bend to her demands.
  </p><p>Never had he been so happy to deny someone a favor.</p><p>As seconds elapsed, she began to lose her confidence.</p><p>
    “Or — what?” she mumbled, growing desperate. “Did you expect me to stoop to
    your level and say ‘<i>Please</i>, Comrade Bolshevik?’”
  </p><p>Well—</p><p>That idea was too tempting not to indulge.</p><p>
    “Well — in fact,” Gleb said, “I might have you do just that,
    <i>Your Majesty</i>. Why not? Let’s hear you say it.” With savage glee, he
    smiled. “For once in your life, you will beg for something! Bow down your
    head, now, and say, ‘please.’”
  </p><p>
    Anastasia’s revulsion was so great she staggered backward. Balling her
    fists, she cast a glance back at her needles — as though she suddenly longed
    to stab him with them.
  </p><p>
    In that brief spell of silence, both of them could hear the subtle dripping
    of her blood on the carpet.
  </p><p>She glanced down miserably at her injured finger.</p><p>
    “<i>Fine,</i>” she hissed quietly. “Whatever. Just... hurry up and fix this
    for me.”
  </p><p>Gleb smirked triumphantly. Waited.</p><p>She drew in a deep breath. Taking a moment to steel herself.</p><p>She lowered her head and dipped down into a listless curtsy.</p><p>“<i>Please,</i>” she whispered. So low it was barely audible.</p><p>He wished Dominik were here to see this.</p><p>
    As promised, Gleb nodded and took the girl’s hand by the wrist. He then
    pinched her cut finger in between his. Perhaps a little too firmly.
  </p><p>Anastasia winced slightly. “Ow.”</p><p>
    Gleb quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, is that too hard? My bad. You’ll have to
    endure a little pain for one moment, dear Princess. Unfamiliar as that may
    seem to you.”
  </p><p>
    She glowered at him, but averted her gaze and said nothing as the seconds
    passed. So did he.
  </p><p>Those might have been the dreariest five minutes of his entire life.</p><p>Finally, his mental countdown ticked down to zero. He let go.</p><p>“There,” he said. “That should do it.”</p><p>
    Anastasia squinted at her reddened fingertip. “Very nice. It stopped — kind
    of. Wait — no, it didn’t.” She scowled at him. “So, what? Now you’re going
    to tell me you can’t even do <i>this</i> properly?”
  </p><p>
    Gleb’s brows rose as he examined the small, thin red line on her skin.
    Indeed — he was surprised to see that the bleeding had begun anew.
  </p><p>“Strange,” he murmured. “I waited more than long enough—”</p><p>
    “Yeah, well. Didn’t work,” she said peevishly. “Look, just — try again,
    won’t you? And get it right this time.”
  </p><p>
    Overcoming his bafflement, Gleb applied pressure to the wound once more.
    And, again, she flinched. He eased his grip on her finger — very slightly.
    Trying to be only a little gentler.
  </p><p>
    “This is <i>really</i> bothersome,” she griped, gazing morosely at her
    captive hand. “It happens <i>all the time</i>. It’s just a weird quirk I
    have. I bleed a lot. We all do, actually. My little brother most of all.”
  </p><p>
    “Aristocrats,” Gleb said jovially, by way of explanation. “You are simply an
    inferior breed of human. It can’t be helped.”
  </p><p>
    She smiled at him sweetly. “I’d love to have you thrown in jail for speaking
    to me like that.”
  </p><p>“Of course you would.”</p><p>
    At that moment, a shrill booming noise came from the hallway. Barking. Then
    a small brown blur — a dog, he realized, about as small and as charming as a
    giant rat — skidded around the corner and dashed into the room. Anastasia’s
    lapdog, if he remembered correctly.
  </p><p>
    When the creature noticed Gleb, it froze mid-sprint. It bared two rows of
    small, white teeth at him. Just as civilized as its master, it would seem.
  </p><p>“If that dog ruins my uniform, I’ll shoot him,” he said calmly.</p><p>
    Anastasia let out a gasp. “Toby, no! This man is good! <i>Half-decent</i>,
    at least, unlike the others. He won’t hurt us.”
  </p><p>And, then —</p><p>Gleb froze.</p><p>
    And it was not only his brain that had shut down temporarily at her words.
    For the span of one second, every cog and gear in the whole world seemed to
    have stopped turning. He could only gaze slack-jawed at her, dumbfounded,
    trying to process—
  </p><p>This man is good.</p><p>He won’t hurt us.</p><p>That was — the naivety and <i>trust</i> in that statement —</p><p>It'd knocked his breath out of him, like a punch to the gut.</p><p>
    And then, all of a sudden, something was different. It was as if some hidden
    switch in his head had just flicked on. Or off.
  </p><p>He noticed the feel of her skin for the first time.</p><p>Her hands were cold.</p><p>
    His heart stuttered — it began to pound violently in his ears — as if he
    were eternally ashamed for laying hands on her like some drunken lout. His
    face <i>burned</i> — to the point of spontaneous combustion, it felt like.
  </p><p>
    To his chagrin, Anastasia sensed this change somehow. She looked him in the
    eye.
  </p><p>And — just as absurdly — her eyes widened; her mouth dropped open.</p><p>A shy dash of pink colored her deathly pale cheeks.</p><p>She snatched her hand away from him.</p><p>
    “All right, it worked!” she announced, turning her back to him. “<i>Now</i>
    you can get away from me! So why don’t you go stand in your corner?” She
    waved him away with a flick of her wrist. “Go on, then — away with you!
    <i>Shoo!</i> And thank you, Comrade Sweetcheeks.”
  </p><p>
    He then noticed the distant, angry voices of his comrades. Four echoing
    pairs of footsteps storming up the staircase.
  </p><p>“Damn it! Where’d it go?” someone was saying. That was Dominik.</p><p>“I <i>told</i> you to lock the door, you idiot!” someone else growled.</p><p>“I did!” a third man replied. “I honestly don’t—”</p><p>
    “I’m gonna <i>kill</i> that fucking rat this time,” a fourth voice cussed.
  </p><p>
    The dog, Toby, chose this moment to bark at Gleb with unrestrained,
    eardrum-splitting fury. He descended on the animal and picked it up by the
    scruff of its neck. As the creature writhed and twisted in midair, Anastasia
    turned to glare at him with a hint of anxiety.
  </p><p>
    “I assure you the dog will not be harmed,” Gleb said curtly. Surprising
    himself yet again.
  </p><p>
    With that, he stalked out of the room. He met Dominik and the others halfway
    down the hallway and let them know — in no uncertain terms — what he thought
    of their incompetence. He turned the dog over to them, reminding them that
    to kill or injure the animal would constitute an act of vandalism against
    property confiscated by the Ural Soviet — and that offenders would be
    punished accordingly.
  </p><p>
    Then, he turned on his heel and strode off to the lavatory. Shaking off his
    disgust at the overpowering stench and the pornographic graffiti on the
    walls, he washed his hands. Scrubbed and rinsed and scrubbed again until his
    knuckles began to bleed.
  </p><p>
    He cursed himself for ever speaking to that woman. If anyone had watched
    that shameful little scene —
  </p><p>If word of <i>this</i> were ever to reach Commander Yurovsky —</p><p>
    He reminded himself that he despised her. He mentally invoked every insolent
    word and gesture she’d hurled at him over the past half hour — tried with
    all his might to conjure up that safe and familiar sense of hatred as he
    pictured her face in his mind.
  </p><p>
    Alas, for the first time since this war had begun, his rage failed him. His
    traitorous heart dwelled instead in the memory of her clever, prideful,
    bewildered eyes — her half-parted lips — the soft pink blush on
    her face. And her fragile wrist seemed to be throbbing with a
    frantic, startled heartbeat beneath his fingers once again.
  </p></div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. The Train Next Friday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, comrades! :) </p><p>So after a brief detour into the past, here we are back in our main narrative.</p><p>Thankfully, these days I am no longer overwhelmed with work. This has given me time to work on Black Tea. But, more prominently, I've been able to work on... </p><p>Drawing character poses - https://sta.sh/0gnwzsp5bta<br/>Drawing bodies - https://sta.sh/0rew0ff1676<br/>Drawing hands and feet - https://sta.sh/0fdlcl1ke8o &amp; https://sta.sh/01z52u28fuly<br/>Drawing eyes - https://sta.sh/022n02ilfgug</p><p>Of course, I am only just learning, but... </p><p>Wouldn't you love to be able to see our beloved Russian babies, rather than just imagine them? :3 </p><p>Another sidenote: To all my Christian friends out there, Happy Easter. Christ is Risen! God bless you all. &lt;3</p><p>--- </p><p>Cultural Note (for context): The black market is where Soviet-era Russians tried to dodge the government's tight-fisted (and, to nobody's surprise, extremely ineffective) control of the economy. Here you could find people honestly trying to make a little money for themselves. You could also find bootleggers of the worst kind. Some people even robbed or killed American tourists just to sell their clothes on the black market! </p><p>---</p><p>Take care. Stay safe. Enjoy the chapter! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p></p><div class="chapter-wrapper"><p>The night sky above the Black Market was black as coal. No stars, and no moon — just blackness. It was late, and it was cold — but, luckily, Winter was on its way out — and winters in the city were a walk in the park compared to winters in the woods, anyways. </p><p>Suddenly Anya was a little anxious to make sure she could still feel her nose. She breathed in deeply — and felt that reassuring, familiar burn as the frosty air gusted through her nostrils. </p><p>The air smelled of exhaust smoke, and all the other normal things from <i>this</i> part of Petersburg. Cheap vodka. Puke. Piss. Old garbage, rotten things, and maybe a dead dog or rat somewhere. </p><p>And, then, there was a special smell that had no name. The one thing everybody here liked to catch a whiff of. The coppery smell of coins mingled with sweaty human skin. </p><p>All of a sudden, she noticed the jingling and crinkling of money coming and going all around her. She could <i>hear</i> it, not see it. People were so tightly packed together she couldn’t see the trinkets and things the merchants had laid out on their tables for their customers to gawk at. She saw the backs of people’s necks and a solid, wriggling wall of hats, shawls, coats — skirts and dresses; aprons, headscarves. </p><p>The bartering and squawking of the crowd was too raucous for her to make out anything anyone was saying. Behind the tables, merchants were trying to shout each other down as they yelled out their wares and their prices. Meanwhile, people kept elbowing each other out of the way in a devil-take-the-hindmost free-for-all. Nobody wanted to miss out on a great bargain. </p><p>“A ruble for this painting!” she heard some desperate salesman hollering. “It’s Romanov! I swear!”</p><p>“Count Yusupov’s pijamas! Comrade, buy the pair!” </p><p>“’Scuse me, missus! Yes, <i>you</i>!” Suddenly, an opening in the crowd — and now a wrinkly old babushka was urging Anya to come closer. “You looks like ye ’ave an eye fer fashion, m’dear! Why dontcha try on me American bootsies?”</p><p>“American…?” Anya glanced down at the rows of button-up, ankle-high boots prettily laid out on the table: a delicate rainbow of dignified greens, blues, and wine reds — and then bold, daring, dazzling pairs in vivid scarlet. They were all so lovely her jaw went slack. </p><p>“How much?” she heard herself asking. </p><p>(If she could rely on Gleb for free food over the next few days, maybe she could actually scrounge up a bit of money!) </p><p>“That’s five ’undred, fer ’em red ones,” the woman said. </p><p>Anya sucked in an outraged gasp.</p><p>“<i>Five hundred?!</i>” she sputtered. “<i>Five hundred rubles</i> for a pair of shoes!”</p><p>The old hag narrowed her eyes shrewdly. (Behind that venerable face, her heart was hard and shriveled like a plum’s pit!) “Me shoes’re <i>real</i> American, missus — me own sons can tell ye true. If ye gots no money to pay, how’s ’bout ye comes work fer me husband? Ye can earn ’em <i>easy</i> an’ take yer bootsies home with ye t’night!”</p><p>She looked Anya up and down. <i>Greedily.</i> As if she were a big, thick slab of meat at a butcher’s shop. </p><p>Anya felt like doing something she’d regret later, but she held back. Vicious old crone was still a babushka. </p><p>She cast one parting glance at the scarlet boots and their glorious, sleek contours of polished leather. Then she jerked her chin up at the woman and walked away. </p><p>And here she’d been over the moon that she was making <i>sixty</i> rubles a week now, working for Dominik. </p><p>If <i>that</i> was the price of shoes here... Dmitry better have a good plan for getting those passports.</p><p>“Anya!” she heard Vlad’s voice above the ruckus (barely). She glanced around and saw him waving at her — his arm flailing above a sea of heads. </p><p>She waved back at him. She thought of weaving her way through the crowd to them, but decided not to. She waited — in a very princessly way — as the two conmen elbowed, stomped, and shouldered their way over to her. </p><p>“Good of you to come, comrades,” she greeted them. </p><p>“She actually showed up!” Dmitry said in fake wonderment. “I was expecting to find out you’d chickened out on us.” </p><p>Anya smiled. “You know, I never thought you could trust a conman to keep his word — even for the most menial little thing! Really, color me impressed, Dmitry.” </p><p>“I assure you we came in all due haste, my dear,” Vlad said, before Dmitry could reply. “I do beg pardon for summoning milady to a place like this.”</p><p>Having agreed to this whole ridiculous Anastasia scheme, Anya had slunk back to the stolovaya to carry on with her workday. Dominik was supposed to be standing guard over her at night — nothing else would appease Gleb’s paranoia over the whole Plisetsky thing — but this time her poor overworked boss had finally run out of steam. Right now he was curled up on a table in the lunchroom, snoring like a baby. </p><p>It made her feel a little bit guilty, having just tiptoed past and left him there. A <i>little</i> bit. Not too much. </p><p>As it’d turn out, Dmitry knew this place like he’d been born here. He led Anya and Vlad along the sprawling maze of overcrowded alleyways until he came to a stop in front of a wooden stall. Countless little china trinkets were strewn over every inch of it, and dangling in bunches from the canvas roofing overhead.</p><p>There was nobody manning the stall. Dmitry crossed his arms and looked around impatiently. </p><p>The heat from hundreds of bodies jostling all around her made her forehead bead with sweat. </p><p>Anya sighed. “Remind me why we’re here again—”</p><p>“And when <i>I’m</i> princess,” someone suddenly said nearby, “I’m just going to pretend I don’t know you. Got that?” </p><p>The voice belonged to a woman — a tall, busty blonde who was surrounded by three men. (All of them, thugs like Dmitry, obviously. And they all looked like they were ready to strangle her.) The company wandered closer and stopped in front of the stall as well. One of them (a huge, hulking one, with tiny eyes) glanced about, looking for whoever was supposed to be minding this place. </p><p>“Yeah — sorry,” the woman was saying. “But I just want that to be clear. Once I’m out of the slums, I’m not looking back. It’ll <i>all</i> be me and my <i>royal</i> grandmama! And then the old biddy dies and it’s just me, period. I’m never talking to the likes of <i>you</i> again.” </p><p>Then Anya knew what this was about. </p><p>Suddenly, she suspected whoever owned this booth didn’t <i>just</i> sell overpriced china trinkets. </p><p>Then Tiny Eyes and Dmitry noticed each other. And their Anastasia wannabes. </p><p>“Just what we all needed,” Tiny Eyes muttered. “Another goddamn Nasta.”</p><p>He spat at the ground at Anya’s feet. </p><p>Anya bristled. “Do that again and I’ll break your nose, ape face.”</p><p>Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to say. The man cocked his head, and suddenly there was a malevolent glint to his eye. “What did you just call me, <i>skank</i>?” </p><p>Then, to Anya’s eternal bafflement, Dmitry casually stepped in front of her. </p><p>“Pretty sure that was ‘<i>ape face</i>’,” he said. “Got a problem with that, comrade?”</p><p>Vlad stepped up to shield her as well. “I believe we all got off on the wrong foot, friends. Mayhap we should start again?”</p><p>And he shoved his hand in his pocket — in a neat, flashy way that made his jacket flap open for a second. Just long enough for everyone to see the pistol holstered at his hip. </p><p>The other Nasta yelped and scuttled behind her conmen. Tiny Eyes’s tiny eyes bulged in their sockets. He and his two buddies flinched, but they looked like they wanted to stand their ground. Just because there were more of them, obviously. Disgusting monkeys!</p><p>By some miracle, <i>then</i> the owner of the stall decided to show up. </p><p>“Now, now, gentlemen!” he said. He was a thin, lanky guy who was decked out head to toe in gold chains and silk knockoffs. </p><p>“You should <i>all</i> know the rules by now!” he said in a condescending drawl. “No murdering your fellow roughnecks in my premises!”</p><p>He was shrouded in a dense, eye-stinging mist of perfume.</p><p>“If you want to gore each other — well, do it in front of someone else’s booth,” he went on. “Now, what do you want from me? Who got here first?”</p><p>“I did,” said Dmitry and Tiny Eyes at once. </p><p>Easing back into his calm, normal stance, Vlad leaned closer to Anya. “That’s Anatoly,” he whispered, nodding toward the man. “He can get you <i>any</i> sort of document — for the right price. More often than not, he’ll charge a prince’s ransom for it, but you can rest assured he’ll get the job done in no time at all.” He chortled quietly to himself— “Hah! With luck, we could be on a train to Paris by this time next Friday! Now, dear, imagine that.”</p><p>Anya did see this vision unfolding in her mind’s eye. She saw herself sitting in a fancy-schmancy train compartment, looking out the window as Petersburg kept getting smaller and smaller in the distance. </p><p>She warned herself not to gamble too much on that idea. </p><p>Until she’d parked her butt on that soft, velvety red cushion, she’d refuse to believe things could be this easy.</p><p>“But <i>do</i> we have a prince’s ransom?” she whispered back at Vlad. </p><p>“Your little Nasta there raises a fair point!” Anatoly drawled, pointing a long finger at her. “If you’ve got the money to pay for <i>my</i> services, <i>then</i> I’ll put up with your <i>ruffianry</i>! If not — you lot had better get out of my sight, <i>pronto</i>.”</p><p>“Well, how much is it?” Tiny Eyes grunted.</p><p>“We need four passports,” the other Nasta said, gesturing at herself and her conmen.</p><p>“Hmmmm…” Anatoly paused and his beady eyes studied the bunch of them. His finger absently tapped on his thin, pale lips. </p><p>“Luckily for you, I’ve got a special promo <i>just</i> for Nastas going on right now,” he said finally. “Ten thousand rubles per passport. For each man you add to your party, I’ll take a thousand off the price.” </p><p>Ten thousand!</p><p>“<i>Ten thousand!?</i>” Tiny Eyes barked. His Nasta and his conmen all burst into a chorus of outraged protests.</p><p>Anya tugged urgently on Dmitry’s sleeve. “I sure hope you have a plan for <i>this</i>!” she hissed.</p><p>“Hey. Trust me,” he whispered back. “This guy freaking owes me <i>his life</i>. Don’t worry; we don’t need money.” </p><p>So that was why he was this calm. </p><p>And, then — somebody screamed.</p><p>It came from not too far away — from the west end of the street. The crowd around her was suddenly anxious — everyone was jostling and shouting. Anya held on to Dmitry’s arm as someone shoved her from behind.</p><p>Dmitry looked wildly about as he helped her steady herself. “What—?”</p><p>“What in the world...?” Vlad said. </p><p>Then, Anya heard it — crystal clear. It was the one word she could make out amidst all the shrieking:</p><p>“Chekists!” </p><p>“The Cheka!” </p><p>“It’s the Cheka! Run!”</p><p>“Great, <i>perfect</i>,” Dmitry muttered. “Come on, comrades; time to bolt—”</p><p>“All right, people!” came a man’s voice. It was high-pitched, loud, and tinny — he was talking through a megaphone. “Everybody, stay right where you are! There’s nowhere to run!”</p><p>Anya turned and was blinded by a car’s headlights — a jeep, inching forward along the west end of the street. A mass of bodies was trying to run away from it in a panic. </p><p>Tiny Eyes and his crew vanished into the crowd. Anatoly ran too. But then the throng of people scrambling for the east end stopped moving forward. It looked like they were getting pushed back by another crowd — another desperate horde trying to escape from east to west. </p><p>“Damn it,” Dmitry grunted. “They’ve got us hemmed in.” </p><p>“It had to be tonight, of all nights!” Vlad wailed in horror.</p><p>“What do we do now?” Anya said. Trying to sound calm. </p><p>Vlad just stared at her blankly in despair. Dmitry swept the china baubles off the stall and climbed up on top, just to get a better view of what was going on. That was a good idea. Anya did that, too. </p><p>On the west end, the jeep had stopped. A man had just climbed up onto the vehicle’s hood. Tall and slender. His ginger hair flared scarlet in the lights. </p><p>“Citizens of Leningrad!” he said through his megaphone — his was the same voice they’d heard before. “Everybody, shut up and listen to me! I said, <i>shut up</i>!”</p><p>He raised his arm and fired a shot into the sky. Screams rippled through the crowd. As one, everyone cowered — Anya held on to the pole nearest to her for dear life — she clung to it with all she had. </p><p>She <i>hated</i> gunshots. Hated men who used guns. Hated them, <i>hated them</i>! With all her soul!</p><p>“Anya!” Now Vlad had clambered up on the stall too. She felt his arm on her shoulders. “Anya, darling — calm down! We’re all right! For now, at least.” </p><p>She opened her eyes and realized she was shaking. Breathing fast. She nodded and swallowed and pushed him away from her. </p><p>“All right, that’s a lot better,” said the disgusting redhead chekist. “Listen: I am Lieutenant Ivan Volkov! <i>Your friend!</i>” </p><p>He sounded like he was trying not to laugh. His comrades did laugh. They were spread out around the jeep, their pistols and batons slung at their hip.</p><p>Then Anya realized it wasn’t just one jeep blocking the way out. It was a whole caravan of them — a wall of blinding white lights. She saw the black silhouettes of gunmen stepping out. </p><p>“And, now, I’m just here to tell you,” the redhead — Volkov — went on, “that <i>all of you</i> are under arrest!” He laughed savagely. “If you’re listening to me right now, <i>you’re a dead man.</i> Or woman. Or — kid, I guess. Right, that’s enough talk — c’mon, boys, time to round ’em up! Get ’em!” </p><p>With that, he hopped off the jeep and opened fire on someone. The other Chekists did the same; a barrage of gunshots boomed like thunderclap — the sound rolled and rumbled from one end of the street to the other. The people trapped in the alley burst into hair-rising screams of terror. </p><p>Anya was trying hard to hold on to her senses. Not doing too well. Though she tried her best not to, she ended up slipping into one of those visions — her nightmares — and she was seeing a room filled with gunsmoke. An arched ceiling — a single bright, naked light bulb. She heard screams — <i>she</i> was screaming — and the girls were huddled close to her. All around, the sound of bodies collapsing on the floor — and one of the girls ran for the door, but it was locked, and she was banging her fists on it — pleading and begging — but then they shot her; shot her in the thigh. And her blood—</p><p>“<i>Are you listening to me?!</i>” Dmitry was suddenly shouting in her ear. “<i>Anya!</i>” </p><p>Then, with bone-crushing strength, his arms had clamped around her waist and he’d wrenched her away from the pole. She yelped as he slung her over his shoulder and jumped off the stall with Vlad in tow. </p><p>The jostling, screaming crowd kept pushing back against them as they tried to run; they were stuck. Vlad pulled out his pistol and fired a shot at the ground. It was all Anya could do to cover her ears and hide her face in between her arms.</p><p>A path cleared ahead of them as everyone scrambled to get away from the gunfire; Dmitry and Vlad charged forward. </p><p>Behind the rows of stalls and tables, heaps of men and women were desperately banging on the backdoors of the buildings that enclosed the market — trying to kick them down — breaking windows. Carrying Anya like a sack of beans, Dmitry rushed past them — and into a dark, narrow sidestreet that stank brutally of piss and vodka. Squinting in the darkness, she could make out the shapes of garbage bins; stacks of crates and boxes. Bottles everywhere. </p><p>It was a cul-de-sac. Dmitry skidded to a stop as they reached the wall. “Ah, damn. Dead end.”</p><p>Anya kicked her feet and tried to wriggle out of his grasp. “Put me down. Let go of me!”</p><p>Dmitry set her down with about as much grace as one could expect of him. </p><p>“What now?” Vlad said, casting anxious glances over his shoulder.</p><p>“Now…” Dmitry looked around, pacing. “Uh… now we…” </p><p>“You have <i>no</i> idea, do you?” Anya crossed her arms.</p><p>“Life with Dmitry is about trying to solve an endless chain of problems, one at a time,” Vlad said. “Tragic, I know, but—”</p><p>“If you don’t like it, you can turn yourself over to the Cheka,” Dmitry snapped, motioning toward the mayhem unfolding fifty feet away with a sarcastic sweep of his hand. “Now, you two, shut it. I’m trying to think.”</p><p>Vlad meekly started chewing his nails in silence. </p><p>And Anya heard — squeaking. </p><p>“Where’s that noise coming from?” she asked.</p><p>“It’s just rats, I think,” Vlad said hollowly. </p><p>“Um... Yeah. I know. But...” Anya squinted at the heaps of trash beneath their feet — but couldn’t see the little critters scurrying by. “But I can’t see any—”</p><p>“That’s because they’re—” Dmitry froze. “They’re… in the sewers! <i>That</i> means…!” </p><p>He knelt down; his hands were feeling for something on the ground, sweeping aside heaps of slush and garbage. “Ah-ha!” </p><p>He had uncovered... a sewer grate. </p><p>“Tell me this is a joke, Dmitry,” Vlad griped.</p><p>“You hear me laughing?” </p><p>“It’s <i>brilliant</i>!” Anya chirped. “When you’ve got no options, the sewers are <i>always</i> your friends!” </p><p>The conmen gave her one of those long looks laced with pity. </p><p>Dmitry cleared his throat. “So, comrades, this piece of junk’s a lot heavier than it looks. Better pull like we’ll all be dead by sunrise if we fuck this up. Ready?” </p><p>Anya hooked her fingers on the icy-cold iron grid. “Ready.” </p><p>Vlad gripped the bars too, mumbling something crabbily. </p><p>From afar, another round of gunshots pierced the air. This time they were closer than before. Anya flinched — took a deep breath — tried to focus.</p><p>“Pull!” Dmitry barked. </p><p>And they pulled. And the grate really was heavy. They uncovered the manhole and climbed in — Anya first, then Vlad, then Dmitry. They all went down a rusty iron ladder that was set into the concrete — down into the gaping darkness below. </p><p>Dmitry dragged the grate back into place. And then they were safe. </p><p>Maybe. </p><p>The rungs on this ladder were a bit slippery, covered with moss. Holding on tight despite the stinging in her palms, Anya kept climbing down; Dmitry and Vlad were close behind. The echo amplified everything; she could hear her own breathing, and Vlad’s breathing, and Dmitry’s. Below her, the narrow shaft stretched farther and farther and farther down — like it was endless — and then her foot touched hard, naked brick — and they’d reached the bottom. </p><p>Now they were shrouded in absolute blackness. So dense she couldn’t see her fingers wiggling. They could still hear the sounds of the mass arrest going on in the distance — the screaming, the gunfire, the Chekists shouting at terrified people through their megaphones. But now it was all muffled; so faint and remote. She heard the roiling and gurgling of sewage close by. </p><p>The smell here was… <i>strong</i>. Familiar. The smell of safety when there was a blizzard outside, and you had nowhere to go.</p><p>“Good <i>God</i>!” Vlad yowled. “<i>The stench</i>!”</p><p>Dmitry’s dark silhouette tried to suppress a shiver. “The chill.”</p><p>It was a lot colder here than it was above ground. </p><p>“Okay, so — <i>somehow</i> — here I am,” Anya muttered. “Stuck in a hole with Wimp and Wuss.”</p><p>She rubbed her upper arms to keep warm. (She hoped they wouldn’t notice.) </p><p>“Says the girl who shits her panties every time someone fires a gun,” Dmitry scoffed. </p><p>“Comrades,” Vlad cut in. “<i>Please.</i>” </p><p>He sounded tired, worried, scared, and annoyed, all at the same time. </p><p>“So what do we do <i>now</i>?” he grumbled. </p><p>As her eyes got used to the dark, Anya began to make out the shapes of the things around them. They were in a high, vaulted brick cavern. They stood on a narrow, elevated walkway; just a few feet ahead, a wide stream of black water churned and burbled past. On either end of the chamber, arching tunnels disappeared into the darkness. </p><p>“We can try going down the tunnels,” Anya said. “We could come out another sewer hole somewhere.” </p><p>“How did it come to this?” Vlad moaned quietly. She could see him clearly now. He sagged against the wall in a fit of misery. “And we were <i>so</i> close!”</p><p>“It’s okay,” she said. “We’ll find Anatoly when this is all over. If they got him, we can always—”</p><p>“If they got him,” Dmitry said, flopping against the wall with folded arms, “that’s going to set us back for <i>months</i>.”</p><p>His voice bounced and reverberated in the great, dank space. </p><p>“<i>Months?</i>” Anya frowned. “Why?” </p><p>“Unless one <i>can</i> pay a prince’s ransom, it’s simply not possible to get papers from just anyone,” Vlad said. “We need contacts.” </p><p>“Anatoly is the only guy in Petersburg who can get us passports and tickets,” Dmitry continued grimly.</p><p>“Rather, he’s the only man who’d <i>agree</i> to it,” Vlad snorted. “Every other forger in this city would sooner report us to the Cheka. There isn’t <i>a single one</i> Dmitry hasn’t aggravated.” </p><p>“Bunch of cowards.” Dmitry spat on the ground. </p><p>That vision of herself boarding a train next Friday was suddenly getting dimmer. </p><p>Anya fought hard to keep it alive. “Well — it doesn’t matter! We’ll find him, no matter what!” </p><p>Without thinking, she took an anxious step forward; she barely avoided falling into the river of poo.</p><p> “He’s supposed to be smart,” she said, turning to face the conmen. “I <i>bet</i> he found a way out! And if he got arrested... that’s okay! We’ll figure it out. Right, comrades?” </p><p>Dmitry and Vlad just stared at her, looking hopeless. </p>
<hr/><p>When she’d passed through Moscow, Anya had learned lots of things about life in the sewers. Don’t go inside a tunnel if you can’t stand upright in it. Don’t eat anything that lives down there. Watch out for snakes. Rat bites. Sewer people. More importantly: don’t get lost and freeze to death. Or starve to death. (Depending on what time of year it is.)</p><p>Still, in the end she and Vlad and Dmitry agreed that it was better to take their chances in the tunnels than to risk going back up the shaft with the Cheka still prowling. So, gingerly making their way down the treacherous, uneven walkway, they shuffled along single file for what felt like ages. Finally, a booming <i>clang</i> thundered up and down the tunnel from above; that meant a car had just driven over a manhole cover — and it was safe to go up now. </p><p>They came out in the middle of the road — they were in Sadovaya Street now, by the looks of it — not even an hour away from the market. When Anya hoisted herself up onto the cobblestone, the sun had already risen. The sky had turned pink. </p><p>She closed her eyes and breathed in deep, loving the sting of the clean morning air on her cheeks. She’d outplayed everything that wanted to kill her one more day! Anya, +1; Death, 0! In her head, she rushed through a prayer of thanksgiving to the Lord for that. </p><p>The conmen asked her if she wanted to stay with them at the Yusupov Palace. She said no. <i>Obviously!</i> She wasn’t crazy — if Anatoly really had been carried off by the Cheka, she wasn’t spending months and months <i>and months</i> stuck in some seedy old palace with those two. </p><p>No; she was going to spend all that time with her Bolsheviks. At least with them she wouldn’t have to worry about food and safety. Besides, even with all their foibles, Gleb and Dominik would never be worse than Dmitry. </p><p>The conmen promised to look for Anatoly. They said they’d get in touch with her when they found him. They <i>better</i> find him. </p><p>As Anya shuffled all the way to the stolovaya by herself, she realized she was tired. </p><p>And cold. </p><p>And <i>hungry</i>. </p><p>And, actually, she’d felt safer down in the sewers than up here on the street. Here, Plisetsky’s goons could pop out of nowhere at any minute and bash her head in with their fists. Ditch her corpse in the river. And— </p><p>And for some reason her heart was beating fast.</p><p>It was getting harder to breathe. </p><p>Still, Anya trudged on forward, because she had to. And when she was finally lugging her half-dead body up the stolovaya’s front steps, she saw someone approaching through the frosted glass on the door. And the door swung open — </p><p>And there stood Gleb and Dominik, right in front of her. With eyes wide as saucers and looks of near-panic on their faces. </p><p>Anya grinned at them. “Hi, comrades.” </p><p>She was glad to see them again.</p><p>Even if right now she was trembling like jelly from head to toe. 	</p><p>And her hands and her clothes and her hair and her face were completely caked with muck and shit. </p><p>And, maybe, this time she’d taken on a bit more than her body could get her through without crashing. From one moment to the next, everything spun — and the darkness started creeping in — and the last thing she saw was Gleb reaching out to catch her and then she’d collapsed into his chest and his strong, warm arms—</p></div>
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